Don't Keep Your Distance (Post-Sonic X Fic)
by Plastic Raven
Summary: Paint, the child of Tails and Cosmo born from a seed that planted itself on an ideal hilltop, has a tough life, maligned by her village not only for her troublemaking, but for her connection to the Metarex. When she learns of her father's existence, Paint and her best friends Arrowhead, Jewel, Star, and Maxwell (counterclockwise from bottom left) set off on a quest to meet him.
1. Chapter 1

"You want to stay my friend, right? Hop up yourself!"

"Come... come on. I... it's steep, alright? I don't know why I agreed to this..."

Paint reached a helpful hand down to pull her friend up. She really did appreciate Arrowhead having stuck with her through the years, as her unusual combination of plant and animal traits wasn't conducive to her being even accepted as a harmless creature, much less well-liked. The toad was incompetent sometimes, and Paint felt she owed him to help him out at every turn, though she took similarly frequent opportunities to give him a bit of ribbing.

"Thanks," he wheezed. "I've had enough of those ledges."

"It's okay; we're almost at the top of the volcano," said Paint. "Then we won't be seeing any more of those. Except, you know, the hole, haha! Scary, huh?"

Arrowhead sighed, more than a hint of anxiety in his little toad voice. "Don't remind me. I mean, I want to see it too, but..."

"Then it's worth it! Onward we plod, I say! A noble quest for a noble pair of explorers! Paint, the visionary, with plant-like serenity to complement her foxy wits! And her trustworthy sidekick she couldn't do the job without..."

"I hate this part," muttered Arrowhead.

"Arrowhead the Toad! There's nothing they can't accomplish together: no hill they can't climb, no river they can't traverse, no pretentious existential debate they can't circumlocute their way out of!"

Arrowhead found this routine, which Paint played up on occasion, to be pretentious itself, and he wasn't all that confident in his abilities. Perhaps she was the smart one - she was certainly stronger and faster than him to boot. He knew, though, that it was just a sign of her genuinely liking him and the spirit of adventuring, and for that much he was wont to tolerate her silliness.

He wondered from time to time, this time being included, whether she harbored any buried romantic feelings for him. He wasn't sure he felt that way about her, at least not yet, but he would relish the welcome boost in self-confidence by having someone else like him as more than a pal. Actually, she was more like a sister to him - and that worked fine, for the time being. Still, as a question easy to spend far too much time musing over, it made its way into his head on occasion.

"Arrowhead, look! We're here!"

He peered his large eyes up from the ground; he'd lost attention to their physical surroundings in his reverie. He quickly, however, directed his eyes back downward, and found himself gazing into the mouth of the volcano. And the verdict was... that he was underwhelmed.

Her opinion echoed his. "Aww, it's just a bunch of rocks! Far-down rocks, but rocks! No majestic, long-lost civilizations, hidden away at the fault of their own inability to develop rock-climbing apparatuses - not even any totally awesome lava!"

He couldn't find himself disappointed, though. He did enjoy their time together, and she seemed to feel likewise.

Like Arrowhead's irritation at Paint's dramatic routine, the rocks making up the ground at the volcano's edge began to crumble. They were in deep trouble and would be in deep lava if they didn't run as fast as possible: they were facing an eruption. He knew all about these.

"Arrow, RUN!" She grabbed his hand and yanked him on the first giant and frenzied steps of a trek down the volcano. They might still be too late, but they could try to escape the imminent explosion of red-hot, molten minerals.

Toads aren't as well-suited for running as foxes are, so he did have some trouble with the activity. Suddenly, his hand left hers immediately as the first terrifying orange droplets began to rain down. He tumbled off to the side and was getting up, but would not be able to catch up to her. This was bad. The droplets were sparse, but get hit by one and you're done for.

Paint set aside her fear and sprinted back to retrieve her best friend. She succeeded and, to make the journey down plain easier, picked him up.

"Thanks, Paint. I... I'm sorry to do this to you."

"Don't worry about it," she replied with an uncharacteristic lack of emotion. Their job now was to get themselves to safety.

The droplets of death were coming down harder, and in greater numbers, now. She panicked. What could they hide under to wait the storm out? There were some trees around, but those wouldn't reliably protect them. They couldn't dig a hole in time, or deep enough, for it to matter.

Coming to a fairly short, but existing, cliff, Paint made the snap-judgment that they had no choice but to jump. It would take them the most quickly away from the line of fire.

"Arrow, forgive me for the problem I'm about to bring to you."

"What?"

She leapt. She clutched him tightly, not about to let him get injured because of her decision. Getting a quick glance at his face, Arrow gathered that he wanted to scream but either trusted her enough or was just resigned to his bitter end.

Before either one could think about it any longer, they hit the grass below. No injuries were apparent, so they kept on in a mixture of running and rolling down the remainder of the hill, whose angle had a sine value a little higher than their comfort values. They did, however, notice that they had by that point escaped the radius of the volcano's reach, the eruption seemed to be over anyway, and they weren't in the likely path of any impending lava flows.

By this point, Paint hadn't been carrying Arrowhead for a fair bit. They took the welcome chance to stop and catch their breaths. Paint did, anyway; Arrowhead had one more remark to make.

"Paint?"

"Yeah?"

"Leave the 'no hill they can't climb' part out of your spiel next time, okay?"

She chuckled, appreciating her neurotic friend keeping his composure to some degree. With that, the plant-fox and toad rekindled their paces down the mountain. No more conversation would happen, but somehow they were fine with that.


	2. Chapter 2

While the two walked for a few more miles in silence, Paint's guilt over dragging Arrowhead within an airborne chunk of rock of his life began to gnaw at her ability to stay mum. She didn't deserve a friend she could whisk away on frivolous journeys all the time that weren't even his choice of escapades. She was adventurous and that was fine, but she could keep that to herself, or at least to a narrower radius of influence, right? The more sensible Arrowhead didn't need that. She was, for the most part, happy to have a friend like him, but beneath this, as was surfacing now, she felt that she didn't deserve him. He was surely smarter than her, both in book-learning and in prudent decision-making.

There was a question she had had buried inside the smothering soil of her head for a long time, and that he perhaps asked himself as well, but she felt it was time to unearth it whether he was ready or not. It would be for the best.

"Arrow?" she ventured with an unsettling meekness in her voice.

He seemed surprised at the difference in tone from her normally confident self. "What is it?"

"Why have you stuck with me all these years?" she asked.

He hadn't been prepared for that. Toad eyes aren't good at hiding their gaze, but he tried his best to divert it from meeting hers. It was a sensitive question indeed; it deserved a careful response with no betrayals of emotion.

"You... you don't get enough respect," he calmly replied.

Respect? What did she ever do to earn it? For her whole life, she'd been nothing but a weed and a bothersome pest, annoying everyone who was generous enough to let her into their life. Earned respect could come from the likes of saving the village from one of Dr. Eggman's robots or, over several decades, contributing more than one's share to the community, as other villagers had done - not from being so disorganized and unrealistically idealistic that hardly anyone sticks around to offer _dis_respect.

"But... but I don't-" she stammered.

"And you're pretty."

The silence grew, at once, deader than ever.

Arrow was sorry then that he was an amphibian and not a turtle or shelled mollusk or crustacean, as he wanted more to escape into a shell after blurting something like that out than he could ever remember being. Had he even meant it? He didn't... fancy her in that way, or at least he couldn't clearly say that he did. But she definitely had a certain allure. It was a strange one, to be sure - her leaflike tufts of green, yellow, and orange were like nothing else he'd ever seen, to say nothing of her short twin tails and oddly red-orange ears. But that was part of the charm, indeed. If he grew to like anyone anytime soon, she would be... high up his list. He felt comfortable with himself leaving it at that.

Her face was bright red; it was nice that she too was turned away from him as they kept their pace back home. That... was nice of him, definitely. But she wouldn't fall for his kindness - in fact, it was that kind of naivete that made it so painful whenever she was mocked for looking like a demon, a scarecrow, a work of terrible art that no one would pay for. She was almost angry at him for trying to get her hopes up, but she knew that he had just reasoned it out that that was what she needed at the moment. And maybe that much could be enough.

It was time to spit out a reply and never look back from it.

"I appreciate it and you're cute too."

Well, that had happened. What had she meant by it? The wonder caused her revulsion - coming up with that might involve more looking back than she was ready for. If he pressed the issue, she would do her best to be as a good a friend as she could, but otherwise she was more than happy to leave it alone.

Thankfully, the issue's momentary significance was about to vanish.

"Hey, what's that?" Arrowhead wondered aloud. "It looks metallic."

The two ran up to the object Arrowhead had spotted lying in the uneven grass. It looked like a shell from a large capsule, which Paint gathered must have been fired from a barrel six inches in diameter. Who - what - could wield such a thing?

She didn't have to wait for an answer. "Hey, look!" he exclaimed. "FOR MODEL E-1030 / PRODUCT OF EGGMAN ENTERPRISES." She then noticed the tiny lettering on the shell, too - that had been quite perceptive of the toad.

Clearly quaking internally but trying to stay calm, Arrowhead stated matter-of-factly, "Well, this seems to have been shot by one of Dr. Eggman's robots. It's not warm, so it can't have been here within the last couple of hours, but it also isn't the slightest bit aged. In other words, Eggman's on the prowl."

That wasn't good. It'd been a while since Paint had thought of Eggman in any real way; he was almost thought of as a legendary figure rather than a psychotic, very real dictator by both the two of them and the rest of their village. Yet here was all the evidence they could ask for that he was making a comeback - or simply continuing an existing, long-lasting trek across the planet to their neck of the woods.

"Well, Arrow, that's all the evidence we need to get back home right now, eh?" She laughed nervously while speaking the words, which seemed to be directed almost toward herself rather than him, despite the presence of his name in them.

"Yeah, let's keep going; we're not too far anyway," he said. "I should know; I drew up the map for this trip." She was again stricken with a bit of gratefulness as she remembered another way he filled in behind the scenes for her, although this time came with less sadness as she knew it was something he enjoyed doing and was proud of - organization and planning in general, really.

And with that, their journey through the forest back home continued, more purposefully than before, though neither one knew yet how right they were.


	3. Chapter 3

The significance of the shell worried the two friends more and more as they approached their village, but nothing but closing the distance could soothe them completely. Still, the lack of conversation began to bore Paint, whose sadness had fallen to the ground miles ago.

She wouldn't be reflecting on this for long, though. They were climbing the final short hill before their village would be visible and they could offer their defenses against any of Eggman's robots that had had the terrible sense to show up. Paint figured so, anyway - poor physical adeptness for fighting thankfully didn't seem to sit among her many weaknesses. Robot butt would be ripe for kicking. She instinctively began to tighten the muscles in her multicolored arms; her hands, which poked out from the somewhat sharp tufts of wrist fur that almost resembled sleeves of a jacket, clenched in anticipation.

Partly through sensing her determination to fight and partly by his own - which was present, although meek - Arrowhead began to ready his grey-brown body for combat as well. He hoped that he and Paint would be enough to take on whatever lay ahead, whatever had dropped a shell that menacing like nothing and not even bothered to come back and hide it.

Neither of the two could be ready for what awaited them as they reached the summit and the entirety of the village came into view, which was an intact, chipper village as they'd always known it. Everyone was fine.

"Wweeeeelllll," sighed the toad in relief. "I guess Eggman hasn't gotten here yet."

"Aww, I was really look..." Paint trailed off.

"Huh?" said Arrowhead.

"Nothing!" But she had indeed been in the mood for showing her family and friends - well, the other villagers, anyway - that she wasn't worthless, however many vigorous punches and kicks that might take. She was happy that everyone was safe, of course - for now - but this could only take her level of satisfaction so far across the river.

"I'm just glad everyone's safe," he stated.

"Me, too." And she smiled; she was.

As they descended the hill such that it flattened out and they were among the huts and villagers, Paint and Arrowhead noticed two of the other children: Max the Firefly and Jewel the Hyena. Those two both eagerly stepped forward to talk.

Arrowhead, however, would drop the first word: "Hey, guys, has Dr. Eggman been spotted around here?"

Perhaps a little too excitedly, Paint chimed in, "We found a shell that looks like it's from one of his robots!"

Max and Jewel looked at each other and then back at Arrowhead. "Eggman? That old weirdo? What makes you think he's anywhere around?"

"Well," replied Arrowhead, a hint of indignance at Paint being ignored showing its face in his voice, "Paint and I found a shell that looks like it once encased a projectile fired by one of Eggman's robots. It says so on it."

"That's weird," said Max, who Paint thought at first was speaking somewhat with her in mind. Actually, she realized in disappointment, he very well could have been. Perhaps it was nice that he wouldn't address her directly.

"Yeah, I guess it is kinda strange," offered the more relaxed Jewel, who was nevertheless not about to speak to Paint either.

"Okay, then," said Arrowhead with a sigh, "no cause for false alarm, then. See you guys later; we can play cards or something." He and Paint continued walking.

"Later, 'Row!" called Max.

"See ya, Pa- I mean, see ya, Arrow!" shouted Jewel in similar form.

Bright, yellow light shined acutely upon the town; the sun was setting and Paint could prematurely feel herself losing energy. As a half-animal, she needed to eat, but she also had some degree of photosynthesis inside her such that her energy levels fluctuated more than a bit with the presence of sunlight. Her head drooped down as she remembered it would be time to sleep before too long. She would climb on top of a roof or inside a shed; Arrowhead's family was on the understanding side and would even let her stay as a guest in their house sometimes.

"Paint?"

"Yeah, Arrow?"

"Want to stay at my house tonight?" he offered.

She was beaming already. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure! I... I mean, I haven't asked Mom and Dad yet, but I'm sure they'll live..."

She hugged him tightly, rather startling the young toad in the process. The dejected, shy demeanor she'd taken on for some time was gone in favor of the active, cheery self she was with him. "Good job, Arrow! This is what I keep you around for, dear boy! Every adventurer needs a sidekick, and you never disappoint!" He giggled, and she leaned in a little closer.

"So, Arrow, what's for dinner?"


	4. Chapter 4

Arrowhead and Paint hesitantly stepped into the former's house. Like the other buildings, it was a squarish structure, lit in the evening and night by flames that, when there wasn't too much moisture around, lasted for a long time.

Arrowhead's mother and father, larger toads with a few warts in positions not optimal for beauty but otherwise looking quite like their son, were sitting in chairs and reading. They each looked up at the two arrivals. His mother, seeing her son's friend, promptly reverted her gaze to her book, which Paint determined to be about exotic trees. His father, however, sat up to greet the younger toad. "Hiya, son! You're back late. What'd you do today?"

"Hey, Dad," Arrowhead replied, lingering strands of physical exhaustion in his voice. "Paint and I went out to the hills today."

His father's upbeat face steeled. "Oh," he said, "Morris was out gathering nuts or something, and he said he saw a volcano erupt. I suppose it was a matter of time, anyway, as we do indeed live close to a tectonic plate ridge. Landmasses coming together to make that ridge seems to explain the differing reptile fossils that have been excavated near town from those found fifty miles away... S-so, anyway, son, you weren't near there, were you?"

Arrowhead's father took an unhappy, almost threatening glance at Paint before looking back at his son. His mother, by now, also showed concern in her eyes and had set aside her botanical education to find out if her son had been in danger by that mutt girl, who she'd always known was a bad influence.

The little toad rocked back and forth a bit on his heels. "Uh, no. This is the first I've heard of it. Paint and I weren't anywhere near any kind of volcano. We were at the southern hills."

Arrowhead's father seemed relaxed now. "Huh, I don't remember telling you that the tectonic ridge is north of here... Well, you're a well-read kid - you are our son, after all - so maybe you researched that yourself."

Arrowhead smiled uneasily. "Paint showed me some cool rocks in... a cave. It was really interesting."

"That's nice, dear," muttered his mother, who was not about to confront the girl and seemed satisfied that her son had been placed in no danger.

"So, Dad," Arrowhead continued, his voice wavering a bit, "Paint and I had a really great time and I was wondering... can- can she stay here tonight?"

His father sighed. "Arrow... er... I mean, I'm not perfect; I try not to be too prejudiced, but... um... She's not really one of us, now, is she?"

Arrowhead didn't respond verbally, only by keeping his eyes somewhere between "stern" and "puppy-dog".

His father came as close as he would to caving. "Ah, I guess... No one's watching, right?"

Arrowhead motioned toward the closed door and toward the window, where no one seemed to be outside anymore.

"Ah... why not. I just... want you to know that Paint isn't... I- I don't have anything against mutts, but this can't become a regular occurrence. I know, we've had her sleep over before, like when it was raining hard and she had nowhere else to, or when she was violently sick and everyone else turned a blind eye. I even went out to collect berries to help calm her stomach... you know, under the pretense of them being for us. But we do have a certain amount of... status to keep up."

While a little let down by the firm finality of it all, despite the adult toad's kindness, Arrowhead smiled. "I understand. But since she can stay tonight..." He turned to Paint, who grinned back. "What's for dinner?"

"Well, your mother and I had baked potatoes and soup," his father stated, "because we didn't know when you'd get back. We set out the leftovers for you. Paint - er, I'm not really sure how much she needs to eat, but - well, she can have some." He was, at heart, a kind man, and Paint felt a little sorry for him, what with being torn between his son's friendship and the small-town stigma against harboring a freak of biology that everyone knew would never amount to anything.

"Cool!" Arrowhead said, more chipper now. "Come on, Paint!"

The boy and his friend walked over to the far table, on which the food lay. Paint happened to glance back and caught what almost looked like a smile on the face of Arrowhead's father.

"Hey, Arrowhead, these look like snakes! Ooh, I bet some of them are still alive!" she cried provocatively, staring into the young toad's bowl of soup.

"Those are green onions. I suppose I can see the resemblance, though. Oh, here - you need yours!" He found another bowl and poured her some.

"Snakes for me, too, dear boy? You're too generous! I think I shall partake! If my lifelong friend is about to get consumed by vicious reptiles in this wooden prison of doom, I think I don't want to leave him! The afterlife awaits, my good acquaintance!"

"They're not snakes..." he giggled. "Now eat yours!"

And they did. It was those monstrous, limbless reptiles that would meet their ends in the bellies of two fearsome beasts that night. The green onions, the rest of the soup, and the potatoes were somewhat salty, and Paint and Arrowhead were far enough from sadness in all directions for an analogy to tears to come to either of their heads. They were friends, no matter what anyone else thought, and they loved it.


	5. Chapter 5

When dinner was over and everything was put away, Paint and Arrowhead sat on the floor, wondering what they wanted to do. It was rare for Paint to be in the company of this much light at night, so she was unusually energetic for the time of day.

It was too late to go outside, so they were limited to what was inside. Paint also didn't want to bother Arrowhead's parents, who would probably remain occupied with their books for the rest of the night.

"Arrow, I just had an idea!"

"What?"

"Well, you love to read, and I - I mean _we_" - she nudged him playfully - "love to go on adventures, right?"

"Right..."

"Want to write our _own_ story?"

"I... well, heheh, it'd have to be mostly you, Paint."

"How do you figure?"

"You know, you've always been the creative one. I read, yeah, but I just regurgitate other people's discoveries," he replied with a bit of resigned submission.

"Aw, that's no obstacle! You can stitch my dumb ideas up when they make no sense! And that's..." - she began to mutter - "I mean, I think you're plenty creative... So, you in for this?"

He brightened up a little. "Oh, why not? So, Paint," he grinned at her, "what's our story gonna be about?" While he said this, he stood up and fetched some sheets of paper and a pencil from the cupboard.

"They say to write about what you know..." she mused.

"That's great," Arrowhead replied proudly, "because I know about a lot! Spending as much time reading as I do may not carry with it the strongest social rewards, but it's times like this when it sure does help! I think we could come up with a neat story about... trees! How about a girl who lives among the trees? A girl who fights for the sake of the trees? A girl who turns _into_ a tr-"

"I wasn't finished, Arrow; stop getting ahead of yourself!" she chuckled.

"Oh." He wished he'd been able to make more use of his extensive knowledge.

"They say to write about what you know. Well, nuts to that! I think it's more exciting to spin webs about the _un_known."

"I'm not sure about this, Paint."

"What's something you know nothing about? Oh, and trust me; there's a reason! It'll be more fun this way, 'cause we'll have no idea about the direction we could be going in and" - she now looked directly into his confused eyes - "you might even have to be _creative_. Let's do... witches!"

Witches weren't Arrowhead's idea of an engaging plot device, but if Paint thought so, they couldn't be that bad. "Cool," he said curtly as a default response to show simple acceptance.

"Okay, let's see..." She took the pencil to paper and started to jot down a beginning. "'There lived a witch named...' Arrow, what's she named?"

"I dunno; what _kind_ of witch is she?"

"Expertly served, Arrow! The ball's on my side of the court to be original again. She could be an evil witch who's... happy about being evil! Because it means she doesn't have to be tied down to anything or anyone and has nothing to risk on missions. No one can break her heart."

"No, I meant what... what species? What kind of witch?" he said.

"Oh! Well, I've inserted enough in for now. What do you think?" she replied.

"Well, last night my mom and I read about sparrows together..."

"Excellent! She's a sparrow, a purple sparrow. A full-blooded one, too; sparrows all the way up her family tree on both sides. Her genealogy is well-traced. Sparrows are a noble breed."

Arrowhead wasn't sure what to think.

She continued. "And that's good! Sparrows are wicked - as in 'cool', but she's also evil! Now, as for her name..."

"Can it be 'Pomegranate'?" he suggested.

"Sure... but why?" She was intrigued.

"She has a dark, seedy core that no one would want to bite into unintentionally."

This was rather abstract for the toad, and Paint was impressed.

"And," he went on, "she's probably usually alone. I mean, you never see more than one pomegranate, right? Not on someone's plate, anyway."

At this point, Paint was introspecting about the character and Arrowhead. It seemed that he was already better-acquainted with Pomegranate than she was, almost like he knew something Paint didn't. This gave her a sad, pulling feeling, so she came back to reality and found Arrowhead staring at her.

"So, uh, Paint... are you gonna write this down?"

"What? Oh, yeah, my mistake. Must've been daydreaming." With quick and perfunctory strokes all the way, she transcribed everything they'd decided about the character, so that the story could be set up to a decent level. She lacked the will to explore the witch's life further right now, though.

"Hey, Arrow...?"

"What is it?"

"I know this was my idea, but I... I just don't feel like continuing right now. Can we set this aside and go to bed?"

This hit Arrowhead as strange. Here his best friend was, with more opportunity to stay up late than she usually had, and she was ready for bedtime.

"Paint, you do want to write more later, right?" He had just begun to get invested.

"Sure! It's just that I'm tired and I want to be able to think more by myself about, you know, some ideas for the story."

"Okay." He let out a high-pitched yawn. "I'm more tired than I'd thought. We did wake up early in the morning for our adventure."

She smiled at him calling it theirs in general, rather than something she had foisted on him. It didn't excuse her dragging him into danger, but it was nice to know that he considered himself as attached to it as she was.

But now it was time for a mundane question. "Arrow, where's your toothpaste?" She grinned with teeth that apparently weren't white enough for the night. "The mintier the better, please."


	6. Chapter 6

When they were done brushing their teeth, they crawled into Arrowhead's bed and pulled the covers up tight. His parents had fallen asleep in their chairs. Arrowhead, who was closer to the nightstand hosting the only remaining light that was on, blew it out.

"Hey, Arrow, you're not still a bedwetter, are you?"

"Paaiiiint!" It was too dark to tell if his face had reddened, and she figured he was glad of that.

"Heheh, just kidding. G'night."

"Good night," he yawned, and he laid his head down.

One window hadn't had its curtains pulled down, so Paint could see out a bit. The moon was high up, well into gibbous territory. It gazed at the village protectively from atop its thickly forested, hulking hill, almost to remind her that she wasn't completely alone. Despite its light, a few stars were still visible once one's eyes got away from the moon's fringes. A breeze gently tossed leaves at sporadic intervals past the window; they had their own destinations and couldn't stick around for long, and she was, in a way, happy for them that they weren't letting themselves get bogged down by obligations or societal expectations in departing. It really was a beautiful night.

Wanting to feel the cool side of the pillow again, Paint rolled her head over, placing the two somewhat rounded, breathing masses of toad that were Arrowhead's parents into view. A wistful wave collapsed over her and she came upon the urge to talk to her best friend - if he was still awake and would listen.

"Hey, Arrow?"

He yawned once more but appeared willing to hear her. "What is it?"

She sighed. "What's it like to have parents?"

That was jarring. "Well, I don't know how to explain it."

"You've explained theories about the nature of the inside of an electron to me before, and they made sense. I think you can explain something like this."

"Hmm... Well, I guess it's like wearing an extra suit of armor, an extremely light one that's barely visible. They can be inconvenient and cause restrictions that seem unfair, but they're always there for me to protect me and make me feel safe."

Another compelling, wonderful analogy. Having parents sounded like it could fix a lot about her life. But she wasn't done wondering about things, and her best friend would have to be the one there for her for now.

"Arrow, what do you think my parents were like?"

He paused. "...One of them was a plant and the other was a fox - but everyone knows that. I wish people were more tolerant of that; I mean, it's weird, but there's nothing wrong with it..."

She was staring deeply into his eyes.

"A-anyway, uh... They must've had a considerable spirit of adventure between them - you know, as well as intelligence and such. And... purpose, I think."

"Huh?"

"They weren't there to watch you sprout, but your seed landed in a magnificent spot: at the top of a perfect little hill that always got as much sunlight and rain as any of the plants that lived there - including you, as you grew from the seed - could ever want. My dad told me that once. A-and it worked! You grew all the way from that tiny seed to a tiny girl without being attacked by predators or anything. And then you were even luckier to be found on those people's foraging trip when you had just been born but were totally defenseless and couldn't feed yourself or anything. I just think... maybe your parents were watching over you in heaven. They weren't done yet."

She sighed deeply, unsatisfied. It wasn't Arrowhead's fault, but she wanted to know more about her mother and father. "Maybe," she replied simply.

"That's just what I think, anyway," he said.

"I guess I'll never know," she stated in disappointment.

"...Maybe none of us will... but if anyone knows about this, it'd be Morris."

"Morris? That old crank?" she asked.

"Yeah, he was the one who first found you, I remember hearing, and since he's so knowledgeable about the world as a whole - you know, politics, history, and such; not science like my parents - I wouldn't be surprised if he could tell you something, now that I think of it."

"Well," she grunted, "I'm not a huge fan of him, but maybe that's what I need. Shame I never asked you about this earlier. Thank you, Arrow!" She kissed him on the forehead and turned around, ready to sleep for real this time.

He yawned again and stretched, but felt something. "Hey, Paint, there's something furry under the covers, with two little ears... Are you hiding a little rabbit under here?"

She giggled. "Those are my tails, Arrow. You're touching my butt."

"Oh! Sorry!" He quickly shifted back to his old position.

"Hah, good night, Arrow."

"Good night."

Paint's energy having all but run out, their heads sank slowly into the mattress and they both fell asleep for real. The moon stayed up as a benevolent guard.


	7. Chapter 7

In the late morning, when the sun was coming close to the top of its roller-coaster and readying its fickle stomach accordingly, Paint and Arrowhead were walking through the woods once more. They were uncharacteristically carefree, barely chatting and instead preferring to gaze at the endlessly vigorous, lovely leaping butterflies and ceaseless variety of unusual trees. It was nice when it wasn't a time of the year when they had lots of chores and other obligations back at the village - especially because Paint, being Paint, didn't really have any of them and as such tended to be bored waiting for Arrowhead to be done with his. No, this wasn't then; this was summer and she loved it.

The forest floor was illuminated greatly. She was almost surprised that neither they nor the tiny forest creatures were getting blinded by the sun's jaunty glare; when not under the cover of a helpful willow or spruce, she almost felt as though they were being baked slowly alive. Still, the copious light was not at all unpleasant for her, as the process of photosynthesis felt quite good to her and even if the sunlight's excessive quantities could threaten to dehydrate her, there were babbling brooks around for protection.

In fact, it was bright enough that when Paint and Arrowhead caught the first shimmering view of an entire, defunct Eggman robot, they could barely see it for some time. The robot's shiny body reflected all of it.

Confused, she told Arrowhead about the spectacle and, without hesitation, upped her pace to get a closer look. She could barely hear her own voice telling him what it was, and it almost didn't seem to matter whether he was following.

When she reached it after a series of hills that was unusually long given the robot's ostensibly rather low distance from the point at which they first noticed it, she was chilled to see "EGGMAN" written in giant, blocky lettering many times all over the being's body. Though she'd known from the start whose creation it was, seeing it spelled out almost mockingly was unsettling.

Paint was content - well, as much as she would be during this interaction - to sit back and inspect the robot, but it had other plans. It slowly began to rise from the ground, not making much in the way of creaking; it had been active recently and showed no rust. It was a giant, squarish silver thing - really, she hadn't noticed its sheer size before. She felt insignificant next to it, yet there she was and it was staring lifelessly straight at her.

Terror coursed through her veins. This was not good at all. She had to run as fast as she possibly could and not waste a drop of her well-supplied energy looking back - except that she had to protect her best friend.

"ARROW!" she cried out. She wouldn't have minded a rescuer, but he would not be the boy to do it. She was deeply afraid for him.

A tiny voice escaped from somewhere around. "Paint..."

Paint swiveled her head around and noticed Arrowhead's defeated, though still living and conscious, body in the finalizing grip of another one of those robots. Surveying the scene further, she was horrified to notice that there were dozens of them around. None of them were running toward her, nor was Arrowhead's new master seemingly in a mood to harm him, but that wouldn't do her any good: one of Eggman's robots made a swift lunge of the arm downward and grabbed her up before she could react, its fist clenched tightly. She was too full of maddening adrenaline to be able to tell if its metallic grip had been made white-hot by the robot's long-time exposure to the blaring sun. Did it? That didn't even matter.

More and more of the hulking giants strode up, somehow avoiding crushing the numerous trees but forming an impenetrable stadium of power anyway.

"ARROW, IT'LL BE OKAY!" she cried out despondently. "WE'LL FIND EGGMAN AND... AND REASON WITH HIM OR SOMETHING! DON'T WORRY! HE WOULDN'T HAVE ANY REASON TO LET US DIE!"

"I don't know about this, Paint..." He began to sob, his tears evaporating quickly once they'd run along his captor's arm for a few inches.

Paint was absolutely incensed, consumed more viciously by rage at her best friend being driven to tears than she'd ever thought herself capable of being. She would find a way out. Even if it meant she would perish, she would find a way to save him and buy him some time to run back to the village. She would have to.

She flailed and kicked violently at the robot's imposing grip. Nothing happened. Her rage only escalated further. She would not die at the hands of a nearly-mythical evil doctor without saving her best friend, the only one who had ever been selfless enough to give her kindness beyond the perfunctory.

Suddenly, a strange, non-robotic creature appeared in the center of them all, and Paint's fury subsided instantly so she could get a meaningful look from her unwilling vantage point. He was a good amount taller than them, with a wispy black mustache and beard and hair pulled back into a long ponytail that swayed in the gentle breeze. While Paint, Arrowhead, and the other villagers were naked most of the time, this creature was covered in at least two deep blue jackets, thick glasses, and several other gaudy articles of clothing. It dawned on Paint that this must be a human - it was Dr. Eggman!

"Paaaaaaint, my dear girl," Eggman cooed as the robots waited in tacit approval of their master. His lips barely seemed to be moving, and his thin, dapper chest didn't heave much to indicate a strong speaking volume, yet she could hear him just fine even though his mouth was a good sixty feet from her ears.

"Eggman! Why are you doing this?! What could you possibly want with us?!" she shrieked at the human.

"Why, you are a feisty little meat-and-lettuce sandwich. And that's precisely what I love about you! I've been observing you - little have you known, hohoho - for your entire life! I was the one who protected your seed from harm; those nasty predators won't drive themselves away, you know! I've been pleased with the adorable little lady you've grown up to be, and I would like nothing more than to be able to count you among my supporters! With hard work and devotion, you could even become a robot general, or even my partner! Oh, and don't bother resisting; like it or not, you're coming with me, because I'm not losing something I've poured this much of my heart into!"

Shock engulfed Paint as she took in all of these revelations. Its shelf life before turning into pure hatred was limited, though. Nonetheless, she took on a streak of rationality and, for the time being, accepted that she had no other way out. Perhaps she could deceive him and escape with Arrowhead later.

"Well, Eggman, you make a good case and it doesn't look like I have much of a choice!" she shouted. "I suppose I can try my hand at being an Eggman girl."

"Excellent!" he snarled, striking a prouder pose. "Oh, but first, I'll need to eliminate a little... distraction from both of our lives. You know, to keep you focused on your job. Can't have my minions getting too emotional later down the line, you know! Ohoho!"

With that, Arrowhead's captor robot began to squeeze him tighter and tighter. His face turned bright red and he gasped for breath. Paint's heart plummeted and she began shaking. There really was no other way; she started writhing furiously at her robot's grip. It wasn't enough. Arrowhead was about to die, and she could do nothing other than scream pitifully for him.

"ARRRRROOOOOOWWWWWW!"

Paint awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. Arrowhead, who was fine, looked up at her from his position in the bed with a worried expression.

"Paint, are you okay? You were tossing and turning a lot - and sweating up more moisture than I knew plants carried. Were you having a nightmare?"

She was flooded with relief that her best friend was still alive, well out of reach of Eggman and anyone else. She wouldn't - couldn't - leave him vulnerable again. She hugged him tightly, wept a little bit, then sat back in bed, oddly cheery.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now! Thanks for asking, Arrow. I was worried about losing you."

He wasn't convinced, but he also didn't think it would be a prudent idea to try to squeeze anything else out of her.

"So, Arrow," she started with a chipper grin, "when are we gonna go off and see Morris? My life story's a pretty big deal - amirite - and I want my best buddy in on the action!"

"Eh, after breakfast." His toad stomach growled in approval.

Her friendly stomach said hello to it. "Sure," Paint replied, "I want to be mentally prepared for all of this, anyway."

Paint looked over at Arrowhead's parents' chairs. The sun had come up, but they were still asleep.

"Hey, Arrow," she said. "Want to make your parents breakfast, too?"


	8. Chapter 8

"I still can't get over how terrible that was," Paint said as she and Arrowhead trudged away from his house. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied encouragingly. "You're just not very experienced with handling toasters. And hey, most of the pancake batter stayed in the bowl, right?"

"I guess you're right, heh. And if I do say so myself, the salvageable chunks of eggs were pretty tasty. You did a good job helping."

"If by 'a good job' you mean 'didn't knock anything else over when I cowered out of the way of the airborne dollops of batter', then yeah, I did," he muttered.

"Don't fret, my fellow adventurer! Let's set this behind us and never look back, just like your parents did with the plates. Onward to learn of the troubling tales of the trouble with the tails, Paint the Mutt Knight of Courage and Kindness!"

"I'm adventuring in my head already!" the faithful toad chirped.

It didn't look like the two friends would be uninterrupted on their quest for long: Max the Firefly and Jewel the Hyena were striding up.

"'Sup, Marrowhead? Want to scare some little kids with me and Drool here - or, more interestingly, start up that game of cards we talked about?" Max asked coolly.

"Yeah, Arrow," chimed Jewel, "we haven't done much lately, and that makes me sad." With that, Max roughly tousled his hair. Paint couldn't tell whether this was just jovial or Max was reprimanding his friend for showing sensitivity - maybe both.

"Uh, actually, Paint and I are going somewhere," said Arrowhead.

Max stared at Paint, giving her an unflattering look and curling his antennae up a little. With his head turned toward her but still speaking to Arrowhead, Max asked, "Why's that? Don't you have better things to do? Even if your two best friends don't take precedence, surely _something_ has to outrank _Paint_?"

Before she could stop herself, she retorted, "Maybe he _wants_ to be with me right now, Max. You guys hang out with him plenty; why do you need to be jealous of me for getting a little time with him? Oh, and nice green eyes; they match your butt nicely."

That was too far, apparently. Max lunged at her furiously, pinning her on the ground in the process. When he spoke to Jewel, however, his voice exhibited an icy relaxation.

"Yo, Jewel! I've got her pinned! I know I've trained you well, so let's see it in action! Whale on her a bit and show her what happens when you forget your place and mess with us!"

Jewel stepped up, shaking a little. While Arrowhead sat quivering, too afraid to help out either party, Jewel readied his clenched fist for impact. He pulled it back before sending it coursing forward. However, Paint was weeping a little and flinched, and Jewel had already decided that he wouldn't go through with it.

Max was confused. "Jewel, wh-"

Jewel spoke icily to Paint, a hatred coursing through his voice that truly frightened her. "Do you know what an overgrown seed does when she steps out of line and someone is merciful enough not to knock her unconscious?"

Paint couldn't even muster the energy to expel much air from her mouth. "Wh-what?"

Jewel filled her in. "She _leaves_."

Impressed with Jewel's alternative to physical violence, Max let her up. She staggered for a few steps before collapsing onto Arrowhead.

"'Row, get her out of my sight," Max commanded. "It was a bad idea to bring her along, but I forgive you. That doesn't mean I want to look at her any longer."

Solemnly, they kept walking in the direction of Morris' hut. Neither one felt much like talking to someone with a notoriously grumpy demeanor after an altercation like that, but they were also not about to go back to Arrowhead's house, not after they had come so far and Max and Jewel were likely to be waiting around in the same place. They could sit and think for a while.

Her eyes mostly dry, Paint looked back at the two little prejudice enforcers. Max was staring off into space, unsmiling, but Jewel was looking back at them, clearly concerned for her.

In a way, Paint wished she could rescue Jewel from Max. They'd been accosting her on occasion for years, but Jewel had increasingly seemed uncommitted, like he didn't want to hurt her - maybe even wanted to be friends or something - but was afraid. It wasn't even about gathering another ally to wait out the eternal storm with her; she was genuinely sad for him.

Having walked their appropriate course, Paint and Arrowhead sat down, slumped against a thick-trunked tree.

Paint spoke cynically to her friend. "Arrow, if my parents are watching over me, they need glasses, and fast."

He could only nod in bitter agreement. It wasn't fair; it wasn't fair at all.


	9. Chapter 9

After sitting and staring at the pretty morning sky while they gathered their bearings for a while, Paint and Arrowhead stood up in unison.

"Well, Arrow, let's do this. I don't care if I learn anything unpleasant; I'm just sick of not knowing who my parents were."

He nodded, showing no emotion.

They quietly walked the few hundred yards to Morris' hut. Other villagers were quietly talking and going on with their daily tasks; those close enough to the scene of the incident either hadn't noticed or weren't interested in consoling either of the two friends. It was a wholly unremarkable morning besides being rather cool.

Billowy cumulus clouds drifted at a caterpillar's pace above; they must have been quite high up. With no conversation to distract her, Paint daydreamed about flying among them, racing them to wherever they were going and possibly having to urge them to keep up and stay in the race. She'd climbed the tallest trees around when Arrowhead was too scared to, and she had never been very afraid of heights. It was pleasant to muse about.

The dirt path faded away as they reached the eastern outskirts of the village. First it turned into trampled grass, then just grass. The trees began to dot their path, then thickened. Morris wasn't _too_ isolated - his hut was still clearly visible from the closest to it - but it was clear that he was solitary and liked it that way.

They both stepped up to it. Neither was timid as they knocked together on the old wooden door. The house had no stairs and they had a reasonable reason to be there, so there was no reason to feel inferior or out-of-place.

"Who is it? What do you want?" the man groaned from inside. Apparently the rare times he had to deal with visitors were still too many. Sure, he helped out the village - he wasn't that old, so he could still go out to gather fruits and nuts and hunt - but that was on his own time, with his own generosity. This was a generally accepted fact about the man.

"It's Paint and Arrowhead," Arrowhead piped up. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions."

"Paint and Arrowhead? Ugh, can't you strange little kids get your yipping and ribbiting out of your systems in front of someone who cares?"

It was Paint's turn. "No, it needs to be you. I..." Was she ready for this? There could be no turning back if she heard something she didn't want to. Sure, she'd tried to convince herself that wouldn't be an issue, and for the most part she'd succeeded, but this was it.

"'I' what? You had plenty of chance to 'trail off' while walking up here; you don't need to do it again when speaking to someone. Is that the kind of etiquette your parents taught you? Oh, wait..."

Paint bristled a little, but it was still important that she get him to open up, in more ways than one. "It's about that, actually. I know what a worldly guy you are" - she was glad he couldn't see her cringing - "and I want to know what you know about my parents."

No sounds escaped from the interior for a few seconds. The two buddies looked at each other, confused and leaning toward worried. However, they then heard someone slowly rising from a chair, stretching, and plodding heavily over to the door.

Morris opened it slowly but widely; a crack wouldn't do as he was prepared to accept them inside. "Don't mind the darkness," he muttered, lazily scratching his rear end. "I actually pref- eh, you know what? For you kids, I can make do with a little light." He plodded, more slowly than before, over to a few windows and opened each one before falling back into his chair and comfortably sinking into it. There weren't other chairs around, and he seemed to make no further attempts to accommodate Paint and Arrowhead, so they sat on the wooden floor.

Paint wasn't normally one to judge, but she'd never realized before what a slob Morris was. His reptilian skin looked unhealthy and poorly taken care of - he couldn't have taken a bath in the past week; a weak smell told her that, too. He was also a little more overweight than she remembered, and his beady iguana eyes looked deeply tired despite his ample opportunities to sleep. There was a piece of a wrapper of some kind stuck to his right foot.

"So," Morris said with his fingers interlocked, "about your parents - Well, first off, how much do you know now?"

Disappointed, Paint said, "Well, I don't know anything other than that one was a fox and one was some kind of plant creature - probably an alien. And that's just obvious from looking at me. If anyone else around here knows any more, they haven't shared it yet."

"If it matters, Paint," Arrowhead volunteered, trying to comfort her, "I don't know anything I haven't already told you."

Morris scowled. "I hate this town sometimes. I really do. I can't be the only one who knows what I'm about to tell you, and yet none of the other adults have- The adults in this town really need to grow up. It's ridiculous that they treat you _this_ badly just for... Er, well, it's ridiculous that I have to be the first one to tell you this."

This really was it. "Please do tell me," Paint asked submissively.

"Your father's name was- First of all, he's still alive, last I checked, so don't worry about that." Morris coughed quietly.

Paint was overwhelmed with excitement, shaking, even. "R-really?! He's alive?!"

Morris gave a sheepish smile. "Well, yes. Again, I really do feel bad that I'm the first one telling you this. Er, then again, maybe his present status isn't nearly as well-known as what he did earlier in his life."

Paint stared in absolute wonder. Arrowhead too was mesmerized by the revelations.

"Anyway, like I was saying: He's a fox named Miles Prower, but he's better known as 'Tails', on account of having two long, bushy tails that he can use as a propeller to fly with. Y'know, 'Tails' is a name that'd ring a bell to a few people around here."

She was giggling wildly, unable to contain herself. It made so much sense: he must've been the parent that donated the genes for having two tails to her genetic code. She was, however, jealous that her father could use his tails to fly instead of just having them around as yet another mark of weirdness. Perhaps he'd been ostracized for the mutation just like her anyway, though.

Arrowhead spoke up, more calm than his pal. "Morris, you've mentioned Tails being accomplished and well-known - outside of this desolate area of the world, anyway. What'd he do?"

"He saved the world! The galaxy, even! He built a giant spacecraft and journeyed into the galaxy with a number of other rogues - er, Sonic the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Knuckles the Echidna; you could name-drop one of those even in an uncultured pit like this and get a knowing look in return, if you're with reasonably cultured people - to stop this group of evildoers called the Metarex from taking it over or worse! Come to think of it, the Metarex turned out to have been pla- ...Ahaha, Tails was certainly a little wizard! He would've been, oh, two or three years younger than you when he was doing all of this!"

"He sounds incredible - and he's my dad!" Paint yipped excitedly. "What about my mom? What are she and he off doing nowadays?"

Morris' face sank deeply, below its usual grumpy state. Paint and Arrowhead sensed this and took on some concern.

"Your mother was... I... She didn't survive the fight."

Paint certainly wasn't excited now, but she didn't know how to feel. "...Oh."

"She was a very brave girl, more courageous than I would've been way up there, definitely. Tails was incredibly depressed for a long time when they all came home, even now - he must be an adult by now, actually."

Paint still wasn't feeling anything discernible. "Huh. What was her name?"

"Cosmo," Morris replied curtly.

"She, uh, obviously she was a plant like I am. What kind?"

Morris looked out the window, almost as though searching for an escape he knew he couldn't reach. "Uh... a unique kind. She was the last of her kind; you're the only currently living one of her kind I'm aware of."

Paint stood up, still shaken from all of the news. "W-wow. I- I'd really like to meet him someday." Arrowhead rose from the ground with her; it seemed that the meeting was coming to a close.

"That'd be tough," Morris yawned while scratching the back of his scaly neck. "He, Sonic, Amy, Knuckles, and those other guys all live on the other side of the world - and that's when they're here. I think they go into space sometimes to look for materials, and they battle sometimes with Dr. Eggman" - Paint nodded in recognition - "which as I remember has also taken them into space more than once. Tails is a seriously accomplished engineer all-around.

"But you know what? If there's any way for you two to get out of this dump, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to meet him eventually. And if you do... Oh, my, that boy's face when he sees his daughter would make my cold heart melt."

Paint and Arrowhead smiled, too. "Thanks, Morris," Paint exhaled with deep gratitude oozing out like sap from a maple tree after a long dry season. They started out the door; he deserved to be left alone if that was what he wanted.

Perhaps not, though. "Wait, you kids." They turned back to face him. "You two are alright, much more than I'd expected from a couple of grubby little know-it-alls. I just want you to know, you can come back here whenever you want. Don't let my isolation be an obstacle. Speaking of which" - he turned his head to scan the hut's interior - "maybe I should clean up a little..."

"Alright, Morris, see you some other time!" said Arrowhead.

As they strode out into the cool morning, Paint was ecstatic. Her mother looked to have been a great person, but her father was still alive and kicking, and that was more than she had ever dreamed possible.


	10. Chapter 10

Finding out about her father gave Paint newfound drive. She'd find him someday, though she wasn't sure how it would ever happen.

She and Arrowhead left Morris' property, taking them back into civilization, so to speak. The dirt trail reappeared, and so did the familiar sensory musk of flat, vague contempt. Paint had felt comfortable with Morris despite barely knowing him and speaking for less than an hour, because he had actually bothered to talk to her - _with_ her - voluntarily. Ah, well. The real world had them back.

Almost had them back, anyway. Both of the two were surprised to see Jewel poke his head out from behind a thick tree and then his entire body. Arrowhead tensed up, but Paint was moreso just confused.

"Jewel, what is it?" She was inclined to be suspicious - had Max sent him back to sic on her again? He was probably strong enough to overpower her again even without his first-in-command. But this inclination dissipated as Paint saw that he looked truly sad, not menacing or deceitful.

"I'm sorry about me and Max attacking you." He hung his head in true sorrow, far removed from a soulless ritual of apology. "I just- I- I don't know how to say no to him."

Arrowhead opened his mouth in disgust, but Jewel began to cry a little. Paint hadn't been mad from the start, and Arrow couldn't stay mad.

"Jewel, it's okay," she comforted softly. "I had a feeling you didn't want to hurt anyone."

He sniffed. "I... I don't. I like you, no matter what anyone else thinks. Especially no matter what he thinks. You're never mean to anyone, even with all they disrespect you."

Flattery had no place here; Jewel still needed her. "Why have you stayed with Max so long?" she asked.

"He's cool! Most of the time. He's never afraid of anything, and he even protects me and stands up for me. Kind of. It's just that with you... I don't know, I can never get to him."

Arrowhead spoke up. "Jewel, you should leave him."

"I- I can't..." Jewel sniffed again.

Paint knew it wasn't going to get better between Max and Jewel regarding her, but she couldn't force herself to confront the little hyena about it. He didn't need that right now. "Arrow, it's okay," she said quietly. Arrowhead nodded.

She then turned to Jewel. "Arrow and I don't have anything to do now. Wanna hang out?" Her wry little grin peeked out once more.

"I... I can't now." He scanned their surroundings, apparently concerned that someone was spying on them. "I don't know if I should be associating with you anyway. Agh, no! I'm so confused!"

"Okay, well, hehe" - she deliberately laughed a little to keep the tension low - "if you change your mind, you can always find Arrow and me... where the winds of adventure blow harmonies of change."

"I'll keep that in mind. See you guys later," Jewel said, giggling too, before remembering that he ought to put on a straight, if not condemning, face while dealing with the mutt. He really wasn't comfortable staying any longer - not then - so he waved goodbye to confirm his departure and set off for some new path.

"I feel terrible for him," Paint said to Arrowhead, nearly at a whisper.

"Why? He can start being nice to you whenever he wants."

"I don't think so. Max knows how to intimidate; that's for sure."

"We'll have to find him when he knows he's alone and is willing to talk for real," Arrowhead resolved.

"Good idea." That worked for now.

Paint remembered something. "So, Arrow... _do_ we have anything to do now?"

"I don't know of anything."

Standing up straight and bold, she announced to him, playfully once again, "Well, my dear boy, how about another adventure? I do believe it'd be a natural crime to resist this exquisite weather, eh?"

"Sure, haha." He was already getting in the mood for scoping out new sights. The areas near the village were all familiar to both of them, so this would need to be quite an adventure, but that somehow was fine with him.

"Onward, then!" They marched past Morris' hut and back into the endless forest. The enveloping blanket of trees invited them into its skin, and they could not refuse. They had no destination and little purpose but mundane summer boredom, and neither one of them minded. Exploration time together was its own reward, although Paint had begun to wish their posse would expand to three.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn't until the two friends crossed the river that they truly knew they'd entered unknown territory.

"Arrow, I just realized: I've never been on this side of the river!" Paint exclaimed with delight as they continued walking. "Even the other side I've only been up to that one time I tagged along with you and your dad when you were fishing. Didn't have the heart to drag you two any further out since I hadn't even been invited. Well, that era's gone now!"

"I've never been any further than that, either," Arrowhead disclosed, "even though I've been _up_ to it a few times. I guess we are pretty set in our ways."

"Now _that_ is why I take the onerous task upon my frail self to keep you by my side, little boy!" Paint ribbed. "Not enough natural drive for exploration! Ah, don't feel bad; I've rather enjoyed the process of building my trusty sidekick into a strong, courageous maverick."

"We're only a hundred meters or so in..."

Their journey continued without spectacle for a mile or two until they came to a sudden and rather steep hill. It wasn't a cliff, nor would it even be especially hard to scale on their way back, but it afforded them a spectacular view. From the top of it, miles of rolling waves of colorful trees and rock formations showed themselves. It was all very inviting, and so Paint and Arrowhead walked, hopped, and dropped as necessary to reach the bottom and be surrounded by it all. They weren't far enough from home for the foliage to be of unfamiliar varieties, but they'd scarcely seen so much of it presented so well. Paint found herself a little proud of her botanical heritage.

"Paint, I've never seen..." Arrowhead, normally more articulate, trailed off in wonder.

"I know!" she chimed in. "We plants certainly have our moments."

As the incline plateaued out completely, they noticed a creek snaking around the tree-speckled meadow. Having had nothing to drink in hours, they gleefully sipped from it. Paint realized she was too hot in the now-bleaching sun, so she let herself tumble headfirst into the water and become drenched entirely. As toads are well-suited to such things, Arrowhead joined her. It was a surprisingly agreeable sensation to sit on top of rocks while mostly submerged in cold water - especially with one's best friend.

"Thanks for letting me coerce you into coming along," Paint said, genuinely happy to have her best friend along for something like this.

"Hey, I never protested! I said I had nothing to do, which I didn't, so here we are!"

"Good! Looks like my bad influences have taken root in your head already! The transformation's well underway: Arrowhead the Toad is learning to live!"

He tittered at that, but if this was what being Paint was like on a good day, he wouldn't have minded more.

"Arrow, we should t..." Something was happening. "Do you... hear something?"

He did. It wasn't too far off, either, and it was definitively approaching. "Yeah."

She wasn't sure whether to be scared by the noise of something coming, but she had a sense they'd want to be ready for it either way. Instinctively, she rose from the water, wiping away a few rocks that had clung to her fur and naked skin, and Arrowhead did likewise. In something between wonder and a sinister trance, they slowly, methodically approached the sound, inviting its carrier up to them.

"Hey, Paint, what do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure. It could b- AAAAGH!"

Panic flooded them: it was a robot about twice their height. Its right arm housed a gun that looked to exactly fit the bullet shell they'd found the previous day. It was Eggman's, and it wanted them.

"ARROW, L-LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted. She grabbed his hand to skedaddle but noticed some resistance. Did he not want to live? Was her best friend okay with being blasted apart by a being they should have considered themselves lucky to find a piece of, which should've been warning enough?

"WE HAVE TO GO! THAT THING'S GONNA... uh..." Her yell dulled. He wasn't moving, and the understanding came to her, too: it wasn't about to shoot them.

"What's it doing...?" she muttered. The robot slowed as it met them before coming to a halt entirely, a comfortable few feet of personal space away.

"It looks curious," he mused. The robot didn't seem to want to hurt them. Its mind was active; that much was certain by the cameras visibly rotating and refocusing inside its two eyes, as well as its shifting, panning, inquisitive head. But its plans for them appeared to stop at "analyze" - or even "befriend". Its armed arm was down and wasn't heating up for firing, nor was the robot about to set any nets or other traps on them.

"What do you want, robot?" Paint asked, still timid and in defense.

It squealed and whirred.


	12. Chapter 12

After a bit more whirring and beeping, the robot seemed to realize it wasn't being understood by its two new flesh-and-blood friends, so it stood for a bit more to think. When it resumed activity once more to communicate through gestures, Paint and Arrowhead lost their apprehension and tried to understand the creature.

It pointed its lumbering, bulky arm at its own head. _I something_, or _something me_. It then plodded over to a tree, gently plucked a few leaves off, and held them in front of its face for Paint and Arrowhead to see. This was a more mysterious signal, one less commonly seen in necessitated charades.

"It looks like it's trying to represent someone," Paint wondered aloud. She waited for a response from the robot and didn't get one; perhaps it didn't understand their language very well.

"Is that a... mustache?" Arrowhead asked her. "Is it... Hey, is that Dr. Eggman? Does he have one?" He turned to the robot. "Dr. Eggman! He created you, right?"

The robot excitedly whistled and nodded, recognizing the name as belonging to its creator. "So this is about something between Eggman and you?" Paint tried. It whirred once, non-indicatively, before continuing with its speech - or plea.

It pointed to its head again. _I _or _me_ again - or maybe something about its head. Paint considered these options and, because the robot was expectantly waiting to continue, nodded in approval.

This gesture was more sinister. The robot set its arms straight out in front of its torso and slowly moved them apart while ejecting abstract white noise from its voice box that quieted down as its arms got more distance between them.

Paint got the idea, but because of the robot's apparently limited vocabulary, she tried a few words. "An explosion? Explode? Blow up? Destroy?"

It whirred a few times in approval again, but with less enthusiasm. This was fear, Paint realized - made more apparent by the fact that the robot cowered as if to hide from something, even though its routine seemed to be over.

"Your head's going to destroy..." Paint wondered aloud. "No..." Then it hit her. "Eggman wants to blow you up?"

"With your head?" Arrowhead chipped in.

The robot gave its approval once more, even more fearful than before.

"He must've set a self-destruct charge in its head. Maybe it didn't go off for some reason, and the robot's afraid it will." Paint suggested quietly to Arrowhead.

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do about it?" Arrowhead retorted. "There's no way we could fix it, even if we wanted to."

"I _do_ want to," replied Paint with a strangely forceful determination. "And there has to be a way. Look" - she pointed out - "there are screws on its head! We can open it up and take the explosives out."

Arrowhead wasn't happy. "At what cost? How do you know they won't go off while we're taking them out? How do you know _we_ won't get blasted to pieces?"

Paint didn't relent. "Well, look at how lost and dirty this thing looks. It's probably really far away from Eggman, which tells me that the explosives aren't going off because Eggman's signals can't get to it."

"But how does it know Eggman wants to blow it up?"

"He probably tells all his robots that, like if they misbehave or rebel. This little one knows it's been bad by wandering off," she guessed.

The robot whirred a few times half-heartedly. Maybe it'd understood some of that.

She steeled, truly enraged now at the invisible doctor. "What kind of thing is that to tell your children?! Having them live their whole lives under the threat of being blasted to pieces for who knows what! They mess up sometimes; even robots do, I'm sure. But if you know they're able to get scared, why would you be so unforgiving?!"

Arrowhead was silent.

Paint picked up a stick and a stone - a dry one from the bank, not from the stream - and furiously chiseled it into something that could invade the robot's head.

"Paint, I'm really not sure about this," Arrowhead implored. "I still think it's too dangerous."

She made clear that she wasn't budging. "Maybe. But I'm not gonna let this little one keep on fretting, only to finally explode for real once Eggman gets in range. I know 'it's just a robot', but darn it, it's scared to death, however that works, and what kind of life is that? Maybe its dad abandoned it, but that doesn't mean I will!" She was weeping a little.

The toad couldn't say anything, and Paint composed herself.

"Arrow," she requested calmly, "I don't think it will, but just in case something _does_ go wrong, I want you to run away right now. A few hundred feet, maybe - that should be enough distance. If nothing happens and I get rid of the explosives, I'll call back to you and we can figure out what to do with our new friend next. But just in case: I owe you everything, Arrow. I have my share of difficulties, but I'm always happy when I remember I have you for a friend, even though you don't need to stick by me. I love you."

"I... I..."

"Now, go," she instructed.

She wasn't going to change her mind. He turned away in response and ran away. There was nothing else to do. He felt nothing but numb fear as he hoped she was right about the explosives. He kept running, tripping occasionally but keeping on. He crossed the plants she had pointed out as he hopped partway back up the hill. Finding a spot he could safely survey everything from, he sat down at it. This was it.

Down by the creek, Paint spoke to the robot. "Can you go to sleep? I'll tell you when to wake up!" She smiled at it. This wouldn't hurt a bit.

It understood, and in the span of about twenty seconds, it sat down and set all of its body processes on standby. It could awaken whenever she told it to, but for the time being, it would be safe to operate on.

Paint took a few steps down to the creek again, sipped some water so she could concentrate, and took those few steps back behind the robot. There was no use in waiting; Arrowhead was safe in the event of an error and the surgical tool was ready.

With the makeshift screwdriver, Paint opened up the hatch on the back of the robot's head. Sure enough, there was an explosive-looking canister inside, with an ugly Eggman logo to confirm its origin. It wouldn't be difficult to remove. Paint stuck her hand inside the hatch, grabbed the canister, and yanked it out.


	13. Chapter 13

Unfortunately, Paint exploded.

With relief. This surge of pleasant hormones was unfortunate because she really couldn't be sure yet of her and the robot's safety. Nonetheless, the first and most painful step was over; the canister had come out easily in her hand. Neither of them was going to die.

Paint then replaced the hatch on the back of the robot's head and screwed it back in, as a second step toward salvation from anxiety.

But what could she do with the canister, which could in theory go off at any time?

Well, what about burying it? It wouldn't hurt anything or anyone then, right? No, that would take too long. And who knew - maybe it could trigger an earthquake. How deep within the crust did those start again?

How about letting it flow down the river like an infant to a new home? No, whatever new home it found wouldn't be happy to meet it, and who knew how it well it would do in water or inevitably banging against rocks?

She had it! It wouldn't do much harm at the top of a tree. Perhaps it would be struck by lightning, but that causes destruction anyway, right? The only obstacle was to actually get it up there - to _stay_ up there, too.

Luckily, one was close. Paint walked over to the tree, which was blanketed with proliferating vines, as some of them were, then climbed to the top. It was high up, but she had climbed plenty of taller ones. Moreover, every inch she climbed incrementally decreased the chance that anyone or anything on the ground would be hurt if the explosives did, in fact, lose their temper, and that kept her going.

Once there, she licked the canister all over. This was one advantage of being half-plant: her saliva was slightly syrupy and could help the canister stick to the rough tree branches. It wouldn't be enough, though; to keep it in place, she set it in the nook between the highest available branch and the trunk, licked the trunk as well for good measure, and tied it up with vines. It wasn't going anywhere; it had done its crime by scaring the robot, so it would do its time.

Paint was relieved for real this time, so she scaled all the way down.

"AAARROOOOWWWW!" she yelled at the top of her lungs in the toad's direction. She and the robot were safe.

He was a bit off in the distance, but she could see him enthusiastically skipping and hopping down the hillside. She waited for him patiently, and he didn't let up in speed. There was more zeal in his steps than there had been when she had told him to leave; his best friend was safe.

When he reached her, they hugged deeply and for over two minutes. She felt a couple of tears from him on her shoulder; there was no shame in that.

No words escaped either's mouth as they stepped over to the robot - almost as if not to wake it, though they wouldn't, of course, until Paint said something.

"Rise and shine, robot! You're all better!"

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and Paint was instinctively worried that something was wrong. Sure enough, though, life stirred within its metal shell; it took a few minutes and booted up all the way. Paint and Arrowhead stayed by its side the whole time, vaguely protectively and to comfort it as it awoke.

When its eyes regained their earlier focus, it realized Paint was standing before it. It shook around its head to confirm the absence of its parasite and seemed to realize a light weight had been lifted. It squealed in delight and nearly lunged at Paint as it hugged her. To a normal person, a few hundred pounds of steel coming down a little too roughly would be rather intimidating, but Paint embraced it back, unharmed. She couldn't think of where it might have learned such a gesture, but the sentiment was quite enough.

It stepped back to admire, if not wait on, its two new friends, and an idea came to Paint.

"Hey, we don't have anything to call you! What's your name?"

It first looked confused, then realized it had something like one: it pointed to some rather small yet blocky white lettering on its side.

"'E-1030,'" Paint read aloud. "That's..."

"That's the same serial number as was on the projectile shell we found yesterday!" Arrowhead exclaimed.

"Ohhh. Were you shooting your gun yesterday?" she inquired, pointing at its gun.

It beeped once, deliberately. "I guess that's a no," Paint muttered to Arrowhead. "So there was another E-1030 model around our village. Hey" - she turned to the robot again - "how many E-1030s _are_ there?"

It didn't know how to answer that in nearly exact terms, so it gestured at a nearby tree - the same Paint had climbed, though it of course wasn't aware of this - and then panned its arm across the valley and its thousands of trees.

"Oh, there are lots of you! Are you the only one who's gotten lost?"

Sheepishly, it whirred a few times. As far as it knew, it was.

"Well, then, if there are so many of you, maybe we'll meet others at some point, so we'll have to come up with a name that's just your own!" She turned to her older friend. "Arrow, got any ideas for this lovely creature?"

"Male or female?" he asked her. That was a good place to start, he thought.

"Hey, yeah - are you a boy or a girl? Or neither one, I guess?"

She only got a blank, befuddled stare. It didn't understand what gender was, and she couldn't think of a good way to explain it. Perhaps that didn't matter here.

"What do you see yourself as? What... are you? Other than an E-1030 robot. Other than a creation of Eggman," she asked.

That was an abstract question, and Paint immediately wanted to recant it. "I- I mean..." she stammered, hoping to rephrase it.

Strangely, though, it had an answer: it covered its eyes - part of the gesture - and pointed at the sky.

"Sky?" Paint asked it. No, it seemed to tell her.

"Moon?" No to that, too.

"...Star?" And Paint got happy whirs in return. The symbolism wasn't yet clear, though. "How are you like a star?"

Star gestured at the expansive canvas of trees and mimed being scared, both gestures from earlier that Paint recognized - and that Star knew she would.

"Oooohhhh!" she gasped. That was wonderful. "There are lots of you, but you're still lost and scared!"

"Wow," Arrowhead muttered at the robot's mind.

More whirs of approval.

"And, you know," she said, editorializing, "you're pretty, too! And you're lighting up our lives already."

Star squealed in delight once more.

"And because of that," Paint continued, "we can't just abandon you. Star, want to come home with us?"

Arrowhead's response was predictable. "Paint, I really don't know about this. Helping Star out was nice and all, but..."

Paint's face said it all to him.

"Ah, I just... Okay, fine, let's go." Sometimes there was no reasoning with her when she thought she was right. It couldn't work out _too_ badly, anyway - and he had grown to enjoy Star's company. For an ostensible mindless destruction machine, Star was sweet.

"Here, let's show you the way," Paint told Star.

And with that, the three buddies began their long trek home. Enough exploring had been done for the day. While Star had no use for such things, Paint's and Arrowhead's stomachs complained; they hadn't had anything to eat since Paint's botched breakfast. There were berries and such around, if they could find them, but that wouldn't fill them up much. They would need a real dinner - but, perhaps more pressing, they would need to find something to do with Star. After all, neither one was under the illusion that the townspeople - if not prepared for the ordeal - would respond at all well to one of Eggman's robots barging in on their placid lives.


	14. Chapter 14

Arrowhead had reasoned that Star would arouse the least public fear if it was visibly interacting as a friend with him and Paint, especially him due to his higher social stature. He also didn't think it'd be wise to warn the townspeople beforehand, as their prejudices would likely blind them to the possibility of Star being nice and nonviolent.

Toward that end, as they approached the village as they'd left it - near Morris' dwelling - he began speaking in a friendly tone to the robot. This was Paint's cue to join in on the display - she wasn't well-respected, but she wasn't thought of as _dangerous_ \- and that she did.

Nevertheless, it would be appropriate for their conversation to be one they'd be having with Star anyway; all that mattered was the general likely impression of its tone.

"Star, how long were you lost?" Arrowhead asked.

Star pointed to the bright, mid-yellow sun, which had fallen deep into the blazing sky, and then waved its hand around the village, or what it could see of it. Fifty or sixty huts, maybe - fifty or sixty days, roughly.

The three were now rounding Morris' hut, and it was Paint's turn to chime in: "How did you _get_ lost?"

They stopped so the robot could explain. Star extended one arm to point at her and one at Arrowhead, then conjured some angry bouts of white noise from its mouth - this was projecting emotions onto two other figures from Star's past. It then retracted its arms and stopped the noise before plodding off sullenly and reverting its gaze to Paint expectantly.

"Ohhh... the other E-1030s didn't like you, so they told you to leave?" she asked.

Star confirmed quietly. It didn't make any hiding movements, though; it wasn't embarrassed, but sad.

"Well, that's no good! Looks like we'll have to be extra-tight buddies of yours."

Star seemed to giggle.

Paint had decided with Arrowhead that they'd like someone else on their cause if possible, so she rapped on Morris' door. "It's Paint and Arrowhead again! And... someone else."

Much more swiftly than before, Morris got up and walked to the door. When he pulled it open and saw Star alongside the two he was already acquainted with, his face jumped first to primal fear. He didn't jump from the door, though - before he could, he realized that it was not shooting or pummeling either of the two, and he took on a look of wry confusion.

"That's one of Eggman's robots, isn't it?" was his first verbal reaction.

"Yes, it is, but don't worry!" Arrowhead was sure to present as early as possible. "It's not going to hurt us. It was lost and scared. We were exploring a few miles away, and it came to us for help. Now we're something in the vein of its friends."

Morris sighed. "Do you have a name for it?"

"Star," Paint and Arrowhead chimed. Arrowhead continued: "It's an E-1030 model."

Star pointed at Morris and looked inquisitively at Paint.

She filled Star in. "His name's Morris the Iguana! Don't worry; he's not scared of you."

The robot turned to Morris and cheerfully beeped a few times.

"H-hi, Star," he grunted. He had something to ask Paint about, though: "I hope you know what you're doing. This town's minds aren't getting any wider, and they're not gonna be happy to see an E-1030 hopping around. I urge you to go on about your evening with caution."

"That's why we came here, Morris," Arrowhead implored. "We need someone else to... vouch for Star not being a monster. I know you're well-regarded in the community, so we were wondering if you could spread the word and... ease people in gently to Star being around."

"It's important to us, because we want our new friend to be accepted. It's a kind soul somehow, even if it is an Eggman robot," Paint contributed. Actually - the thought dawned on her - she hadn't actually seen any other creations of Eggman. It wasn't necessarily appropriate yet to contrast Star with the rest - although, granted, the only other two individual robots of his she knew of had been mean to Star.

"Well, the robot gets my preliminary blessing," Morris stated, "and that much I can confirm for the doubtful public, but... I mean, you've just introduced me to the thing, so I can't be _too_ trustful of it. It was _created by Dr. Eggman_."

"Well then, Eggman must've made a wonderful design flaw, because Star's had plenty of opportunities to blast us to pieces and has been nothing but gentle," retorted Paint.

"Then I hope that continues," said Morris, rather sternly and without ceding any greater degree of trust.

There wasn't a good way to respond other than a timid "Bye, Morris" from both of the group who could speak, so Paint and Arrowhead awkwardly walked away as Morris closed his door.

"It's okay, Star," Paint told her friend confidently, "we'll find something to do with you soon."

She only hoped it was something good. She hoped Star would survive whatever happened.


	15. Chapter 15

When the three friends had left Morris' property, they continued uneasily back into the core of the village. However, their journey inward would again be halted: Jewel's head emerged from the same tree as it had that morning. He gazed up at Star in wonderment.

"Whoa! Where'd you find that?" he gasped.

"Jewel, why aren't you scared of it?" Paint playfully prodded, turning to Star every few seconds while mocking a grimace of terror. "It's a deadly, heartless piece of machinery, created by" - and she pointed the Doctor's name out - "Dr. Eggman!"

Star looked sad and betrayed, so Paint broke her facade and insisted to the poor robot, "It's okay! I was just kidding. I still love my little robot." Star brightened up and giggled.

Jewel's question still needed answering, so she obliged. "A couple miles past the fishing river; I'd guess you know where that is."

"Yeah."

Paint continued. "It came to us, scared to its wit's end. Turns out Dr. Eggman sticks explosives in his robots' heads as a looming threat in case they misbehave. This little one had indeed misbehaved - by getting lost - yet _being_ lost must've staved off the reach of the signal of Dr. Eggman's controls. So we took the explosives out and made it all better!" Paint patted Star affectionately. Arrowhead stood still, a little uncomfortable.

"I didn't know robots _got_ scared," Jewel pondered aloud.

"Neither did we. Maybe it's supposed to 'keep them in line', but it sure doesn't feel good on their end."

"Oh, should've asked earlier: does it have a name?"

"Star!" Paint replied proudly. "And it picked its name itself, when Arrow and I asked it what it felt like. It didn't have any specific name beforehand, and I don't think Eggman gives names to any of his individual children."

"'Star', haha! I like it!" exclaimed Jewel. "What are you gonna do with it tonight? I don't think anyone here's gonna be too happy to see it - although Morris seems alright."

"Don't remind us..." Paint muttered, wincing at the town's poor track record of openness.

"Well, it can't stay at my house," Arrowhead stated with a staunchness of authority. Sensing Paint's preparations for puppy-dog eyes and the like, he wavered a little. "At least not yet."

Paint affirmed, "Star and I can sleep outside." It would be like a sleepover! She didn't even think that in a cynical way; she'd never slept next to Star before.

"That sounds cool! I hope you find a way to keep Star around longer!" said Jewel. He shrunk back into the widening scraps of darkness; he needed to go home, or maybe meet with Max one more time that night. She understood.

"We will!" she confirmed.

Turning now to her older friend, she posed a question. "Arrow, you want to sleep outside with us, too?"

He groaned. "I don't know if I can. At least let me ask my parents if it's okay to sleep outside - just with you. They won't be pleased if they know about Star right now."

That sounded fair. "Sure; come right back!" she said.

He trotted off for his home. Paint geared up mentally for a few minutes of waiting outside and entertaining Star, when a less friendly face crept from the shadows. It was Max. Paint wasn't happy to see him, but he looked more curious than violent.

"Jeez, what's _that_ thing?" he muttered. He eyed Eggman's name, then made the unusual move of speaking with Paint without any explicit threat. "One of Dr. Eggman's creations, eh? Why isn't it splattering you into green and orange chunks, meat salad?"

She was willing to reply, but only with a certain degree of caution. "It's not violent, Max. Actually, it was scared when Arrow and I found it and saved its life, so it's become our friend now."

He looked with angled eyes at her, skeptical of her tale, but eventually seemed to decide that he didn't care about its veracity. The robot was not a threat, so he was uninterested in it. "Ah, so it's just a wimp. It's not worth my time any more than you're worth its time. Quit being such a drain, Paint, before it's too late." He swaggered off, muttering something about looking for the flighty Jewel.

When he was out of sight, Star beeped curiously at Paint.

"That's Max. He hates me, but he's more neutral toward you." Her explanation was largely devoid of positive affect, and Star took notice. It beeped at her, concerned.

"Thanks for your concern about me, Star, but you don't have to worry. I'm fine."

Middling, unsure whirs.

Paint stayed silent for a couple of minutes, just soaking up the first breaths of the warm night. Gentle breezes rolled through the trees, the villagers had all escaped to their respective dwellings by now, and there was a relaxing quiet in the slightly damp air. Star also relaxed, scoping its new home out curiously. Paint was happy for it - she really was - but was not in the mood to hold much of a conversation.

To break the silence, Arrowhead came bounding back. "My parents said it's okay! I mean, they were barely awake, and they've let me do things while they were barely awake before like weld without a mask or run some scissors over to my uncle - I really did test that, just to see if they were paying attention, haha - but they said yes!" He was carrying three pillows and the largest blanket around his house, which still wasn't of an impressive size.

But it was all satisfactory. "Cool," Paint said, visibly starting to lose energy because of the darkness. "Let's go to sleep now." She let out a deep, wide yawn.

He was fine with that. He motioned them over to a suitable nook in the crook of a couple of trees. Star lay down on its back, and Paint and Arrowhead curled up together beside it. She felt loved and protected by her two friends, and they felt the same. The blanket really was awful - Paint's and Arrowhead's feet poked out from underneath, and they couldn't have imagined how to distribute its real estate if Star had needed warmth - but it added to the air of protection, in a way, and for that Paint was happy as she drifted off into slumber. Star powered off, too, and Arrowhead joined his two pals. Light-years above them, actual "stars" as the term usually referred to took further watch over the three friends. And it was good - perhaps they would need all the guarding they could get.


	16. Chapter 16

Clouds, or something like them, enveloped Paint's body, infinitely thin strands of water snaking around her limbs and ensnaring her. Yet, as usual, it felt good. She was not being drenched - a feeling she did not like - but gently nourished. At the same time, her body's warmth seemed to make the water trails happy as well; they danced vibrantly and shimmered.

Widening her gaze to see all of her surroundings, she found herself looking at nothing but endless gray expanses. There seemed to be no Mobius below her to anchor the clouds with its gravity - not that there was an apparent "below", anyway. Directions and distance didn't matter here. While she was still able to introspect about it all somewhat, she was not anxious or scared at all. She was safe and felt loved endlessly by the universe. So this was what it was to be a plant in heaven.

Wait, she couldn't be dead, could she? What would have killed her? No, it felt like her consciousness was jumping erratically across events - except that there were no events. This was a dream. Paint realized the nature of her dreams from time to time, but she hadn't ever learned to control or willingly escape them, though she had read about the phenomenon of "lucid dreaming" in one of Arrowhead's parents' psychology books. She would just have to see what this dream held for her.

Perhaps thinking about the nature of the dream was enough to set it in motion for real. Two celestial bodies, both of them simultaneously colossal and familiar-sized, made themselves known off in the distance and started approaching her. One was yellow-orange and the other emerald green. It came to her immediately: these were her parents! Tails and Cosmo! Semblances of them, anyway. She couldn't make out any distinct outlines of them, but that didn't matter. She knew who they were supposed to be.

"Paaaaaaaiiiiinnnnt," they both whispered.

"Mom! Dad! It's really you! You're really here!" Sure, she wouldn't be seeing her mother in real life, nor her father anytime soon, but she had them here and she would cling to them as long as she could.

"Come here, Paint," she heard from them, more articulately.

She swam through the air, pushing aside water strands. Some of the bunches of them, when close enough, congealed into large balls of water. Raindrops. They fell in a single direction that Paint figured signified "down". Yet she herself did not fall. She continued straight on, accelerating on and on toward her parents. How distant were they? She would meet them soon.

"How far away are you?" she called out to them.

"630 kilometers! But it's okay; you're doing fine!" Tails cried back.

"How long will it take for me to meet you?"

"You'll be here in five minutes and 26 seconds!"

Paying no mind to the oddly specific totals, Paint reasoned it out. Five minutes and 26 seconds: 326 seconds. Her average speed - if the information her father mysteriously had access to was right - would be a little less than two kilometers a second. 315/163, to be more precise. Thinking for a bit, she realized 163 is a prime number, so that was the most reduced the fraction would get. Mental math: she hadn't had that in a dream in a while.

The distance didn't matter, she supposed; she could talk to them while huddled up against whichever one she collided with. Or could she? They already looked rather large off in the great expanse of cloud, and she was traveling so quickly... What would the impact do to her?

"Mom, what's gonna happen when I come in contact with you?"

"You'll wake up!" Cosmo sang sweetly.

Angst shot through her daughter. Why would they have to go? Why couldn't the dream just end and leave her back wherever she'd been before? That wouldn't be so painful.

"But I don't _want_ to wake up!" Paint cried out. "I want to stay with you longer! A few hours, perhaps - just to catch up on things! I haven't seen you since I was tiny, Mom! Would a few hours be too much?"

"It's okay, Paint," Tails tried to reassure. "We'll stay with you even after that."

Paint had a bitter taste in her mouth. That was a sour cliché out of the ending to a cheesy novel. They'd be gone until her brain found a way to conjure them up in a reverie once more. In that moment, she detested him for taunting her like that.

"No, you won't!" she screamed, hurtling ever faster toward them.

Cosmo spoke again. "Paint, we both love you, and we're proud of the lady you're growing up into. You have our love inside you."

Not appreciated.

She couldn't fight it, it seemed. She had to think of _something_ to make this bittersweet trip worth the lessened rest she was sure she would be getting as a result of the vividness of the dream, to be worth the little heartbreak. She picked a question. "Why'd you two name me 'Paint'?"

"Because you stain everything you touch." Her parents' gentle speech had taken on a demonic color. "Watercolor, acrylic, it doesn't matter. You get your colors on everything."

Paint was disgusted.

Her parents seemed to be queuing up whatever they used to speak for more speech, but a voice erupted that wasn't either of theirs: "Paint, I can't believe you!"

She was frightened now.

"Paint, I can't believe you! Paint, I can't believe you! Paint, I can't believe you!"

She was startled awake. Arrowhead's mother and father were standing over them, imposing in their displeasure.

"W-what?" she yawned, still adjusting to the light.

"I said I can't believe you!" Arrowhead's mother chastised. "Not only did you bring one of _Eggman's robots_ around here; you willfully let it near my son! It's always been a struggle to trust you, Paint, a real struggle, and this is why! Who knows what it might've done to him?! I don't care if you want to dance in danger, Paint, but don't rope anyone else into your antics!"

Paint saw that Arrowhead was standing near his parents, both embarrassed and deeply sad.

"Paint, why would you do this?!" his father continued.

"It's... it's our friend! It's not dangerous. It's nice, and it hasn't made any dangerous moves on either of us so far! Star, wake up and show them!"

Star began to boot up, rising from its stony slumber.

"You're _waking it up_?!" Arrowhead's mother screamed. "What's _wrong_ with you?! Do you want us all killed, Paint?!" She clutched her son fearfully.

"Mom, it really isn't-" the young toad tried to spit out.

"You don't _know_ that! It could _kill_ you at any time, Arrowhead! Do you want that?! Do you want to die?!"_  
_

Arrowhead's father had gotten a little calmer at hearing his son's attempted objection, but not much. "These things really are deadly, Paint. We should _all _leave it while we can." He grabbed Paint's hand, and Arrowhead's mother took that of her son. Both of the older, stockier toads started to run as best they could.

Star, however, had woken up, and it didn't understand. Seeing its two best friends being dragged away, it followed them, beeping angrily at Arrowhead's parents.

"IT'S COMING _AFTER US_!" Arrowhead's mother screamed, physically unable to raise her volume any higher.

Paint tried to reason with her. "It's scared! It thinks you're attacking us or dragging us off to eat us! It doesn't know who you are!"

Neither of Arrowhead's parents would have that; they kept on with their crusade in silence, and Star kept chasing them, enraged.

The spectacle had balled up attention of other villagers. Shrieks escaped from all around, and a few people were at their doors, gawping. This was bad. Luckily, none of them were running out and attacking Star - not yet, anyway.

Paint had an idea. It would be absolutely horrendous if it ran awry, and she couldn't plan it out with him out loud, but if it worked it would set this all to rest. And right then was the time for it. With her free hand, she grabbed Arrow's free hand and, with him, bolted in the opposite direction, towards Star.

Arrowhead's parents screamed out in terror and chased them, but they sprinted toward Star, determined to reach the robot first. Arrowhead clearly understood, as he kept pace surprisingly well. He wasn't as fast as her, of course, but what with being pulled, he did a fine job.

Star took notice of its two friends running toward it, and it beeped happily. However, it was less pleased about Arrowhead's parents, who were still hurtling in its direction.

Just a few more meters and... there! Paint and Arrowhead clung to Star's side, and it beeped affectionately.

Arrowhead's parents saw this, and they absentmindedly slowed their paces in disbelief. Star hissed at them as a threat not to hurt its two friends, or else. Paint feared that it was about to raise its gun, but no such gesture took place.

"See? It's not hurting us!" Paint cried out hoarsely.

The older toads were still out of breath and did not reply, but continued walking toward their son, his best friend, and the mysterious robot tag-along.

"Star, those are my parents!" Arrowhead corrected.

Star looked at Arrowhead and whirred in surprise, then greeted his parents in typical Star fashion.

"Good call, Arrow," whispered Paint. He smiled back.

"What... what are you?" wheezed Arrowhead's mother at the strange new arrival.

Paint stepped in on Star's behalf as usual. "You two were right: it _is_ one of Eggman's robots! But it really isn't violent. It loves us, and we love it back! Its name is 'Star', by the way - a name that _it picked_!" Now it was time for Star to be cute again for them, just to pad the deal. "Isn't that right, Star?" she asked. Whir, whir. Happy, happy.

"Can you... can you please just give Arrow back?" Arrowhead's mother rasped.

"Star, it's okay. I'm going with my parents now. I'll see you later!" Arrowhead told it. Paint saw that his parents had grimaced at the last of those three sentences.

Paint also noticed extraneous villagers losing interest, if only for the time being. Arrowhead was safe, and Paint was, too... or at least she wasn't causing trouble any more. This was a relief.

Star bid Arrow goodbye and turned receptively to its other best friend. She said, "They're spooked, that's all. You're a big, strong machine! They just want Arrow to be safe."

Star whirred a few times sadly. It didn't _want_ to be seen as a monster. It wanted to be seen as a friend.

The spectacle had flattened out, so Paint began to walk off back into the woods for some privacy, motioning for her robot pal to tag along. She wanted to talk, and she needed Star to listen.

"Listen, Star. Arrowhead and I love you with all our hearts. But you're one of Eggman's robots, and most people can't see past that. They see a giant red machine walking into the village, and they get scared - not only for themselves, but for Arrow, because they don't want him to get hurt.

"And remember: they don't like me, either. They've never accepted me a day in my life. My mom's not alive anymore, and my dad's all the way across the world; I've never met him. I just stumbled onto this village. It doesn't help that I'm a freak: half-plant and half-fox. That's weird, so in their eyes, it must be dangerous and cause for alarm.

"And it really is a strong, wide-ranging contempt for me. I mean... If I was actually starving I'm sure someone would feed me, but most of the time what I eat consists of sandwiches and stuff that Arrow brings me - that and whatever I find out in the forest. And I sleep outside in the elements most of the time. That's my life.

"But the main reason for that contempt, I think, is that I'm just always messing up. I can't... keep it together. In general. I try my best, but somehow I always manage to make everything worse than before I showed up. I've even gotten Arrow in real danger before - the most recent time was the day before yesterday, in fact. No one knew about that specific instance, but they _do_ associate me with that kind of screw-up in general. So when they see you and me with Arrowhead... I'm sure you understand. It's just another confirmation in their minds that I can't be trusted, that I don't deserve to be kept around. And on the other hand, being associated with me makes them more scared of _you_.

"It's not fair, Star. It's not fair. You deserve to be treated like the sweetheart you are. But that's just how it is for the time being."

Star gently hugged Paint, not wanting her to be upset. Even further, it let out some corrupted noises. They didn't make any sense in context, nor did they correspond to any signals Paint had learned from the robot beforehand. And they seemed unintentional, directionless.

Star was crying.


	17. Chapter 17

Paint was deeply moved by the robot's emotions. She hugged Star back to reassure it that she was fine. Star culled its flow of digital tears and beeped encouragingly at Paint. Today was a new day, and they were together! Star wanted Paint to enjoy it.

"I'm starving. Want to come with me while I find something to eat?"

Star accepted the offer and they descended into the woods. The robot was placid and quiet, looking around at their surroundings inquisitively.

Paint looked over at her friend and noticed the Eggman lettering on its body. It came to her that Star could be a deep source of information about Eggman - and she was curious, so why not? "Hey, Star, what's Eggman like?"

Star stopped in its tracks and marched forward, pointing at trees and shrubs and directing rude and coarse noises at them.

"Bossy, huh?"

Star whirred to confirm.

"What does he look like? You said before that he has a mustache..."

Star pointed at its own mustache region and then lightly rapped its hand on its torso.

"His mustache... it's steel?"

Star beeped. Negative.

"It's... Oh, it's red, like you! He has red hair!"

The robot craned its arm around to the top of its head, which was a difficult but eventually attainable reach, and beeped no. It then repeated its gesture affirming the color of Eggman's facial hair.

"Ohhhh, he's bald, but just his mustache is red."

Star confirmed.

"What else about him?"

Star thought for a second and came up with another fact about its creator. It reached its hand out a few feet in front of its belly - to mark distance, Paint figured - and waddled a little, then brought the hand inward and marched more confidently.

"He used to be chubby and slow, but not as much now? He lost weight?"

Whirs.

Huh. Paint had a pretty good picture of the doctor in her mind now.

"Do you know about how old he is?"

Star shrugged. Perhaps the robot did not understand age. It wouldn't have had many living specimens - if any at all - to glean such a concept from, and its siblings would have all stayed static in appearance. Actually, that last thought clued Paint into another question.

"Are there any... _other_ robots? On Eggman's level? Partners? Assistants, maybe?"

Star whirred excitedly. It wanted to tell her about them. But Star wasn't done. It pointed at Paint's ears, one and then the other. It scanned the ground for a bit, then picked up a dark-colored stone and showed it to her.

"It has pointy ears like mine, and... it's tiny?"

Star seemed to think she was partially right. It set its hand a foot or two above the ground and looked up at Paint.

"It's about that tall."

Star accepted this, but it was not done with the stone. It tapped the stone, determined to communicate to its friend it could not speak to natively.

"What else about this rock? The robot's... hard? It's... black?"

Yes, that was it! The second one.

"What's it like?" she asked Star.

It marched around like Eggman, but somehow more purposefully, and barked high-pitched squeals. Paint didn't like the sound. "I get it, Star!" She giggled, agitated. "It has a high-pitched, annoying voice, and it's bossy like Eggman. Ugh." Star stopped, pleased that she had understood.

Paint appreciated the descriptions nonetheless; really, she was in wonder at the robot's imaginative style of communication with her. However, this did nothing to assuage her mundane hunger.

"Star, let's keep going. There are some fruit trees not too far from here."

The robot obliged.

"So, that annoying black-colored robot is Dr. Eggman's henchman. Wh-"

Star interrupted her. It was still holding the black stone, but it picked up two others. Dr. Eggman had three assistants, it seemed.

"Walk while you talk."

Whir, whir. It did indeed want to describe the other two. While continuing on walking, Star raised its hand again to indicate heights: first at about its own height, then somewhere between that and the black robot's.

"Huh. Are their voices that dastardly, too?"

Star shrugged and imitated them. Its noises were more bearable, though also not something Paint would want to bask in for too long.

"They're not _also_ obnoxiously bossy, are they? That sounds terrible."

Negation.

"Ugh. So what do these three caballeros _do_? Do they have any real control over you or any of the other E-1030s?"

Again, negation.

However, Star wasn't done talking. Unprovoked by any of Paint's questions, it described the silly and haphazard relationships of Dr. Eggman to his three helpers. Aside from asking for clarification of Star's gestures at some points, Paint was mostly quiet. Star's enthusiasm for storytelling was very well inspirational; from what Paint had known about robots only two days prior, she never would have guessed that they could do such things or get so invested in them. And she was happy to be her friend's most loyal audience.

They eventually reached Paint's trees, where she helped herself to copious apples. While it was nice to have a full stomach, Paint was a little sad to be walking back to the village, as it represented an end, if only a temporary one, to her alone time with her best robot buddy. The village meant the "real world", and while she had to get back to speak with Arrowhead and clear everything up with the other villagers as necessary, she was nervous about the idea all the same.


	18. Chapter 18

Paint and Arrowhead re-entered their town to an unhappy, small crowd. It showed moderate to high levels of contempt; the townspeople seemed to be trying somewhat to hide this feeling - or holding it in reserve.

None of the crowd members were among those Paint counted as her allies: Arrowhead's parents and Morris were absent. Likewise, no one her age was around, either: no Arrowhead, no Jewel, even no Maxwell.

Instead, two of the adults stepped forward: Carol the Hyena - Jewel's mother - and someone Paint barely knew called Amin the Tuatara. Amin was a gardener whose carrots Paint had stolen when she was little and scarcely seen since. Paint didn't know Carol's occupation - some kind of artisan, she remembered. However, both of them were also on the town's small, inactive, and largely irrelevant, yet existent, police force. Accordingly, they both pulled lengths of thick, impenetrable rope from behind their backs.

Carol spoke to the two. "You are both under arrest."

"What for?!" protested Paint.

"Disturbing the peace," answered Carol matter-of-factly. "Place your hands behind your backs, both of you."

Paint could tell quickly enough that Star was scared; she saw it begin to raise its gun before interrupting the action: "Star, it's okay. Do what she says. We'll be fine."

Star forlornly whirred but obliged.

"Amin, take the girl. I'll do the robot," Carol commanded to her fellow officer.

"Okay," he grunted. He tied up Paint's hands and feet. Carol did the same of Star; her longer length of rope came in handy for the robot's much thicker limbs.

"Good riddance..." said a voice from the crowd as the two criminals were led away.

"Punish 'em good!" cried a more forceful one. "We can't be having this kind of nonsense every day!"

Star looked again at Paint, worried.

"Star, I said we'll be fine. Let's just go," she reassured it.

The march continued; they walked slowly on account of their ankle bindings. All they saw were disgusted onlookers until, after some time, they passed Jewel. He looked in horror at the spectacle, as well as at his own powerlessness to stop his mother. Paint smiled at him, which did little.

Not long after, they passed Maxwell. Paint was surprised to see a slight expression of concern on his face, but when he met her eyes definitively, he quickly retracted this in exchange for his trademark uncaring gruffness. He stared into the sky, surely at more useful things more worthy of his time.

Paint began to whisper to her friend: "Star, wh-"

"Quiet down, please," Amin instructed. Paint supposed it didn't make a difference anyway; the robot wouldn't have been able to gesture anything back.

The town jail was before them. It was a medium-sized stone building, unfriendly by nature. Carol held the door open for Amin to take control of both captives and lead them inside; she then shut it behind her. It was dark and dingy inside; there were four cells - two on each side of the single hallway - and an office in the back. The only light available came from barred, small, high-up windows in each cell.

Amin untied both of the prisoners' hands but left their feet bound. Carol took control of Star again and locked it in the first cell on the left, and Amin shut Paint inside the second one, adjacent to Star's.

A little exasperated, Carol said, "Amin, keep watch until you know they're on good behavior. I'm leaving; I want to get back to my son."

Amin grunted and obliged. He walked into the office and shut the door. Carol left the building.

After a few minutes of silence, Paint heard Star crying in its cell. She couldn't see the robot because of the solid stone walls separating them, but she reached a friendly arm out between her bars. Star did, too, and became quiet and content when their hands met. Paint was glad to comfort her friend, determined not to let it think this was its fault.

She considered suggesting that Star take a nap, but she knew she could do better.

"Want to hear a story while we wait for our trial?" she whispered.

A few faint whirs - as quiet as the robot could muster - crept over from the adjacent cell.

This would be a true story. Paint told it about the time two years ago when she had accidentally set a couple's house on fire while setting up candles on their windowsills to provide an unwanted romantic environment for them, then used a barrel of fermenting wine - the result of hard work, apparently - to put it out. Star giggled at the strange tale all the way through, encouraging Paint all the while that she was successfully distracting her friend from the harsh reality of confinement.

At one point, she peered through her cell bars into the office, whose door had opened. Amin looked at her and Star every so often, but didn't seem to mind that they were talking. He even grinned once at them, though most of his time was spent writing something down - notes for the trial, perhaps, or just a crossword puzzle to kill time until the event, given that he had to supervise them and couldn't return to his regular occupation.

When the story was long over and Paint had reassured Star that their trial would be quick and easy - after all, Arrowhead would come to their defense, and "disturbing the peace" didn't sound like a serious crime compared to what she'd gotten away with before - the robot went to sleep voluntarily. Paint whiled away the hours scratching word games and drawings of fantastical creatures into the dust on the floor with her finger and, after Amin eventually brought her dinner, sleeping in tandem with Star.

Her sleep was mostly dreamless, marked only by images of her and Arrowhead's fictional character Pomegranate the Sparrow Witch sparring with Tails and Cosmo over her; Paint was tied up completely, hanging above a bubbling cauldron. She did not worry, though; she knew her parents would come through. Most notably, they were more corporeal than in the previous night's dream: Tails looked like a real fox and Cosmo like the logical counterpart to him to make Paint. It only made her long more strongly to be with them, to hold them tightly and never let them slip through her arms.


	19. Chapter 19

Paint woke up to a rattling of her bars from the hallway. A sleepy Amin stood on the other side, clutching a bucket and some other things - she couldn't quite tell right away; her eyes hadn't adjusted.

It was mid-morning, though, and, fueled by the light streaming in, she felt energetic already, ready to take on the trial. However, her ankles had grown sore from the bindings. She'd made half-hearted efforts to take them off before, but nothing had worked.

"Hey, your trial's in an hour. You might want to wash up first." The bucket was full of sloshing water, and Amin was also holding a bar of soap, a towel, a comb, a toothbrush, and toothpaste - all cradled in the crook of his left arm.

"Uh... thanks, Amin." She got up and walked to the front of the cell, waiting for him to open it.

"Uh... would you mind staying by the wall? Just so I can make sure you don't leave, you know. When we have someone _dangerous_ in here, we make them stick their hands through the bars, just like this" - he gestured placing his wrists at bar-level - "and tie them there while we bring everything in. But, ah... I don't think that'll be needed now. All the same, though, I do need to really open the door to get this junk in, since the bucket, unlike plates and stuff, won't fit under the door."

"Say no more." She cooperated.

"Great," he replied, and so did he before locking the cell door once more and returning to the office.

Paint felt wonderful when it was done. The knots in her fur were gone, and perhaps a thoroughly clean Paint would make a better impression. It was a novel sensation, really, as she usually didn't have access to much more than rainwater to water herself down with.

Amin came back with a breakfast of... carrot cake. He and Paint both snickered at this. She realized she was thinking of the tuatara almost as an old... family friend: not among her friends in the truest sense, but oddly not of a foul rapport given the present situation.

"Wake your friend up," he said. "I'm not sure how much time robots need for their morning primping, but maybe you can talk to it or something. Moral support, y'know." He trudged off again.

"Sta-aaaar!" she cried into the other cell. "Prepare for battle, sleepyhead! Polish your armor, swig a pint of ale to get the blood angry, sacrifice a prisoner of war, smooch a handsome sir - or a lady, I dunno - and let's march! I can't do this alone!"

It had heard its name, at the very least. Paint heard the familiar sounds of the robot booting up to greet the new day. When it was fully awake, it reached its hand through the bars as though the routine had been carried on for months. Laughing, Paint did the same, and they grasped each other's hands for half a minute or so.

Star beeped good morning.

"Hey, Star, ready to go?"

Whir, whir, whir.

Paint called out to their captor, "Hey, when can we get out?"

He peered at an unseen clock. "It'll be a few minutes."

Immediately, however, Carol entered. "They're ready for you two," she stated. She had returned with two familiar cuts of rope; she handed one to Amin and each of them tied their old submissive party's hands after unlocking the cell doors - in front of them, this time.

Saying nothing, all four inside the building drained into the sparkling morning outdoors. They began and completed a walk to the town square, where most of the village's hundreds of residents were gathered. A few jeered at the arriving delinquents; most just looked eager, even effervescent, for the spectacle of a criminal case itself. Some had brought aged wooden crates or stools from home; others were fine standing. Perhaps this would not be lengthy.

The two officers led Paint and Star to a bench near the judge's podium. Star sat down gingerly, not wanting to break it, and succeeded. Together they waited for subsequent instruction.

Perusing the audience gathered, Paint picked out Arrowhead, her loyal intercessor, and his two parents. The youngest toad grinned worriedly at Paint. Accompanying the toads were Jewel and... Maxwell. Urgh, great. Morris was also present, however, appearing unusually sanitary.

Carol and Amin took their places on a second bench, as did two other officers. Court would soon commence.

The judge appeared from the crowd and stepped up to bat. She was Amethyst the Salamander, another adult Paint barely knew. She seemed young for a judge; her red, wet skin was lively and shimmering even while the judge herself was stern, albeit wanting of confidence. While the town had no formal leader, the judge was probably its foremost figurehead.

Amethyst spoke to the villagers. "People of Sunny Clearing, I present to you today the first criminal case of this year. It is surely one whose events you are aware of, and while they have not caused noticeable damage to property or livelihood so far, such is not the extent of the law's jurisdiction. This case concerns the safety of all of you, of the police force here, and of myself.

"As is customary - though it can be difficult to remember all of this what with how law-abiding a community we _usually_ are - I will begin this meeting by iterating the charges against the two defendants, Paint the Seedrian-Fox and Model E-1030, affectionately nicknamed 'Star'."

_Seedrian_. This was it. This was the formal name of Cosmo's species. While keeping up her stoic facade, Paint was giddy to finally hear a name for her mother's kind. How had Amethyst gotten it, though? From Morris, likely - but if so, why hadn't the old iguana told _Paint_ this? He'd had a lengthy enough chance. It made her wonder.

Amethyst continued. "Paint and E-1030, you are both charged with disturbing the peace. To summarize: Paint, you have brought a robot created by the legendary long-time terrorist Dr. Ivo Robotnik - better known as Dr. Eggman - into our village."

_Ivo_. Yuck. It sounded like a familiar, abbreviated name of a disease. Well, it fit the old doctor; Paint credited his parents with that much. The "Robotnik" part was strange in a different way: it seemed to reflect foresight of the Doctor's life goals - or had it stood as a self-fulfilling prophecy? Whatever its origins, it was similarly distasteful.

"And E-1030, not only have you terrified our community, but you continue to pose a danger because of your origins as a Robotnik creation and your fearsome apparent bodily capabilities for harm."

Star whimpered softly. "Sshh, it's okay," Paint reiterated.

"Without further ado," Amethyst announced, "we will now hear arguments from anyone who is interested in defending or attacking the two on trial."

"Yeah, I've got something, Judge," asserted an older man, who stood up. "Have you seen the _artillery_ on this thing? It's like something out of a cartoon, yet we're expected to tolerate it amongst our dearest friends and family? I don't think so. Darn right my peace is disturbed!" He won cheers for his appeal, and Star looked down in sadness.

A woman near the front chimed in. "And that's just this single robot. Do with it what you will, but this is a recurring thing for the girl. This town has given her nothing but hospitality, and for what? She's done nothing, _nothing_ her whole life but aggrieve us and put us in danger. It runs in her genes, honestly, and I'm sorry if it's not politically correct, but that's just not a good enough reason to let her prey on our generosity any longer. That's the truth. Hmph." More applause. Paint looked down in anger to complement her co-defendant.

Arrowhead was sweating in discomfort and timidly spoke up. "Excuse me, but I object!"

The cheering softened, and all eyes were on him, a good number of them scornful.

"Paint doesn't get hospitality at _all_! She doesn't even have a _home_! I mean, occasionally my..." He stopped, not wanting to implicate his parents in harboring the stigmatized girl. His point, however, remained unfinished. "Er, she sleeps on _roofs _sometimes!"

"Yeah, don't remind us!" someone shouted.

"It's because she has to! There's nowhere else to! Well, other than two nights ago, when we slept outside together."

Someone whistled, and a few laughed. Even Paint giggled through the tension.

Arrowhead blushed, but he pressed on. "Th-that's not what I meant! I was just keeping her company, because no one else ever does! And- and Star was there, too, and it didn't make any dangerous moves on us" - he recalled Paint's defense from the next morning - "even though we would've been vulnerable to any kind of supposed attack all night long!"

A mirroring figure rose from the crowd to foil him, and he grimaced when he saw who it was. It was his mother, and she was not pleased to see her son arguing such a position.

"That's enough. Now it's _my_ turn to object, _Arrowhead_."


	20. Chapter 20

"Mom, what are you doing?" he pleaded.

She ignored him. "Yes, I'm objecting now. I'm objecting to my son's innocent - almost admirable - but immature defense of the girl and the robot. I want them both gone as soon as you can make that happen, Amethyst. I don't think I ever want them back in my son's life. And really" - she hint-hinted this at him - "he ought to be grateful to me for defending him."

"You're _not_ defending me!" he protested. "You don't care what I think!"

"I'm defending your safety, Arrowhead. Or do you want me to just finish loving you and discard you like an empty soda can?"

"What I _want_ is for you to accept that I can take care of my own safety better than you think!"

"Better than your own mother?! Oh, I'd love to hear this one, Arrowhead. In fact, I'd like it in writing."

Amethyst quietly interjected, "Is this relevant to the proper plans for the two defendants? I'm sure you can adjourn this matter until you're at ho-"

"Oh, it's relevant all right," said Arrowhead's mother. "It's relevant because my son may as well learn now that his well-being is more important than his blind, doormat-like deference to this vixen and the demon she's corralled into our midst."

"My well-being is _because_ of Paint, Mom! I'm _happy_ when I'm with her! She listens to me and respects what I feel! She doesn't complain when I get too hung up on what I've read in books - well, maybe a little, but only in a friendly way! I'm glad we found each other!"

Paint blushed thickly, and she saw that Jewel - seemingly Star, even - was grinning. Maxwell only looked disillusioned; he hadn't realized how connected Arrowhead was to her and was too bewildered to emote any more.

"And Star, too!" he went on. "Paint was scared of it at first, but she was brave enough to operate on it anyway because it was in need, and it worked! I doubted that it would even stick around once we solved its problem, but it's become a wonderful friend! It has... _emotions_! Real ones! I was too afraid - I decided we should just abandon it once we figured out what was going on - but she didn't budge! They... I _love_ both of them, and I'm not ashamed of that!"

Paint was overcome with pride for him.

Some in the crowd appeared to question their own judgments, chatting quietly about whether the little toad might not have a point, and Arrowhead's mother took note. Whittling her argument carefully to secure a win, she said, "Tell me more about this 'operation'. Tell me what the girl did to this hulking metal beast that caused it to convince you it 'loves' you, that it 'feels' things."

He nervously shifted from leg to leg. "Well, as Star told her, Dr. Eggman had stuck explosives inside its head that it couldn't remove. He does that to all his robots, or at least most of them. He detonates them when the robots misbehave. Star had misbehaved, because it had gotten separated from its group, because its teammates didn't like it. But it had wandered off so far into the forest that Eggman's radar signals to whatever actually sets off the explosives couldn't reach. Eggman could reappear at any time, though, so Star was scared to death. I understand that now. I... I didn't then.

"So what happened is that she had it go to sleep, then opened up the back of its head and got rid of the explosives. When it woke up, it was overjoyed! I felt great seeing it."

"Arrowhead, where were you while Paint was doing this?" his mother said.

"She thought of that, too! She had me run way up the hill so I would be safe even... even if she wasn't. W-we were near a huge hill, by the way. You know, those ones miles east of here."

"Uh-huh. How did she know how large the explosion would've been?"

"Well, she... uh..."

"That's what I thought," said his mother, rather pleased. "And what became of the explosives?"

"I saw it from up on the slope! She climbed a giant tree - the tallest one around - and knotted the canister to it."

Paint tried to add an addendum about her use of her natural adhesive, but Carol silenced her. Arrowhead was clued in, though; he'd suspected this at the time. "Oh, and I saw her licking the little device all over, I think. That's what it looked like. Because of the slight stickiness of her spit, that helped it stay up! I bet it's still there now."

His mother was underwhelmed. "So instead of scaling this tree - which she's tried to pressure you into doing many, many times before; I know that for a fact - why didn't she dismantle the bomb right there? She's crafty enough; she could've found a way. And that would ensure it wouldn't ever blow up, which should be fine, considering she doesn't care about her life, right? Not that I blame her for that or anything..."

Arrowhead was again left without a response. He was angry at her for her callousness toward his friend, but he could not back this up with objectivity. His father, who had not ceded much trust to Star and had, at the least, been peeved at Paint, thought similarly: "Honey, are you sure there's a point to this?"

Icily, she shot back at him and to the audience, "Why, yes, there is a point. The point is that this girl's sense of morality - arguably, foresight as well - is more corrupted than her mud-puddle lineage. She abandons her possessive, nine-tailed form to don the guise of a well-meaning, hyperactive scamp. When we try to chase her down to put a stop to her misdeeds, she absorbs the water from our sweat and the carbon dioxide from our panting and ejects it as sugary sweetness and oxygen to turn us into piteous airheads.

"But you know what? I don't think Paint's latest escapade to bring _one of Dr. Eggman's robots_ into Sunny Clearing to accost us as it pleases and to idealize it into a being capable of morality is an act of 'disturbing the peace'. We don't _have_ peace with her around. We never have, and we never will while she remains among us. I only ask you all to stand by me and demand that we disturb the terror."

The crowd was dead silent, not counting a few chaotic claps. Paint and Arrowhead were not comforted by the display, though: perhaps Arrowhead's mother had won them over and it was simply not a time to rejoice with effusion. Arrowhead sat down and began to cry, and Star, though it did not attempt to tear through its bindings, stared at the older toad with a piercing hatred that chilled even Paint. Arrowhead's mother met Star's gaze and scowled in concert.

"Well," exhaled Amethyst, "that was passionate and informative. No one has yet challenged this woman's arguments; if they remain uncontested, I will proceed to the verdict."

No one spoke. Even Morris, whom Paint trusted as a figure of reason, albeit crudely presented reason, was too shaken to speak. What was there to say, really?

Amethyst shuffled a few paper documents at her podium and spoke up again. "These arguments reinforce, and in some areas expand, those that the police force prepared in basic fact-gathering. It is clear that you two have gathered quite a nasty reputation in the community, and I'm afraid that the arguments leveled against you on this day do not help your case. I am sorry about this.

"Paint the Seedrian-Fox and Model E-1030, your charges of disturbing the peace remain valid, and the punishment we have decided on will be applied. As the judge of Sunny Clearing, I sentence you, Paint, to permanent banishment from the village, extending to one mile beyond its city limits, and you, E-1030, to death."


	21. Chapter 21

The world slowed to a waifish crawl around Paint, and her heart plunged down its cavity with a silent thud. This was not real. She had hallucinated the recitation of Star's verdict. It could not be true.

Yet there everyone was, some of them staring at Star and Paint, some at Amethyst, and some at their own feet. Did they feel quiet pleasure at the result, or did they think the sentencing had gone too far? It didn't matter, really. The verdict was out, and popular opinion in either direction would not change it.

She could do nothing but sputter helplessly and loudly. "W-w-w-WHAAAAAT?!"

"I'm sorry if you don't like either of your sentences, Paint," Amethyst said, "but they are what we have decided on. There are other villages you can invade if you so desire, the nearest being Angelic Falls, 23 miles south of Sunny Clearing and 6 miles east. You will be returned to jail shortly so that anyone who wants to can visit and say goodbye for the remainder of today, and you will be escorted far away from here tomorrow morning."

Paint didn't care about her own sentence. "Star... DEATH?!"

"Tonight, E-1030 will be completely immobilized, and someone with expertise in electronics will open up its head and disconnect the power supply to its body. From there, its central processor will be removed and that, along with anything else containing potentially dangerous data, will be melted so that nothing can be recovered. It is likely that most of E-1030's body will be put to good use in household appliances and other projects for the community."

Star writhed violently against its ties, trying to escape, but Carol firmly held its gun arm such that it was pointed away from any and all villagers and gripped its body with her arms and legs, while Amin tied it firmly to its bench and to a tree a few feet away so that it could not move beyond pathetic shaking. Amin and Carol returned to their seats, and Star sobbed pitifully, also beeping in a sickly familiar way to Paint - it was calling for her.

Paint went ballistic at seeing her friend treated like this. She lunged for Star, hugging it tightly as best she could with her hands bound.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" she screamed. Her passion had given her a cause bigger than herself. "KILL _ME_ INSTEAD! YOU CAN DO IT; YOU CAN SWITCH THE SENTENCES!"

Carol pulled her away from the robot roughly and sat her back down, and Amin tied her to the seat in a similar manner. It was like a sick, demented version of her bindings from her dream: she would not be saved. Star, more accurately, would not be saved.

Neither of the officers spoke, but Arrowhead cried out, "Paint, what are you talking about?!"

"STAR DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! IT HAS A KIND SOUL! IT JUST WANTS TO BE A FRIEND!" With that, she collapsed into tears like Star had. The robot continued to whimper aimlessly, in endlessly vain hope of escaping the day alive and of Paint getting to stay with her friends in Sunny Clearing.

Amidst the dull, mostly uncomfortable murmurs of the crowd, an unexpected voice tolled out above them all. "Are you sure this is necessary?" asked Maxwell the Firefly to Amethyst the Salamander. "Star's a useless wimp, and Paint knows that."

A woman in the audience stood up crossly. "Aren't you the boy who used to bully my son?"

"Yeah, and I stand by that! Your son's a wimp, too, who needs to learn how to use his fists for something beyond kneading pizza dough. I know one when I see one. But even _he_ could beat up Star if he tried, because Star wouldn't put up a fight."

"What are you saying, Mark?" said Amethyst, stoically interested in the young firefly's qualm.

"It's 'Max', and I'm saying that I can vouch that Star isn't dangerous, and if you let it live, I won't have to listen to Paint whining for the rest of today or whenever she grows enough brains to find her way back. I... I want you to cancel the sentencing, if there's a way to do that. Ah, y'know what, Paint's too."

Amethyst wasn't sure what to think. "I appreciate your conviction, Max, but I-"

"I also object," stated Morris stormily. "I've watched Star with its friends including Paint, of course - at times when they would've been completely vulnerable to it and yet it's shown nothing but kindness to them. I've also seen it meet someone new who'd had no part in saving its life, and it was as friendly as could be. Even when I was openly doubtful - right in front of it - that it was safe and that I'd support keeping it around, it was nice to me. I'd never thought it was possible for a creature made of cold metal plating and circuits to have such strong emotions and show so much kindness, but Paint did all along. She convinced Arrowhead, and she's convinced me. I think we should listen to her more often, and we can't do that if she's gone. So I steadfastly join Max in support of waving Paint's and Star's sentences, and I encourage you all to join us."

Paint was looking up at the iguana in wonder, but mainly at Maxwell. Was this really happening?

Claps and low cheers squeaked out of the gathered crowd in support. Maxwell's opinion as a tough kid mattered somewhat, but Morris was well-respected. He was looked up to as an informal figurehead of knowledge and reasoning, and perhaps this was all they needed.

Amethyst was jarred by the display, and she cleared her throat before speaking to the audience again. "This is strongly unorthodox, but in the wake of this new information from these sources and the apparent presence of support for the release of these two, I'd like to call a vote. Please raise your hand if you would like them to be released rather than subjected to the sentences specified."

Paint gasped in silence as the clear majority of hands in the audience stood up. Some shot up right away, and others took a few seconds to blossom. Barring a few stubborn hands like that of Arrowhead's mother, Sunny Clearing was in clear favor of letting Star live and Paint stay.

Amethyst grinned and announced, "Then with that, I take pleasure in voiding these sentences. Paint and Star, you will both promptly be set free and, if you stay on good behavior as we expect of all of our citizens, allowed to stay in Sunny Clearing as long as you like. Court is now dismissed." There was no gavel or other formal object of finality, but when the judge stepped down - even a new, young judge like Amethyst - that was all anyone needed.

A few villagers cheered as most of them shuffled out, ready to get their jobs for the day underway; it was about noon already. Amin and Carol untied their captives, who each hugged them. Carol resisted the affection, but she whispered to Paint, "I'm as surprised as you are, but good for you, Paint. You too, Star."

It truly was wonderful. Paint would still be leaving town before too long to begin her quest to find her father, but she would do it willingly, after proper goodbyes, and - most importantly - with Star, if it so chose.

Maxwell approached her, a dismissive swagger emanating from him. "You're still a loser, Paint, and I still don't like you. And Star's still a wimp. But like I said, whatever keeps your whining to a minimum is fine by me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm skedaddling for more useful tasks before the mushy emotional fireworks start. Gotta go fast, amirite?" And he did leave.

"Love you too, Max!" she shouted. He briefly looked back, grinning awkwardly, as he walked away.


	22. Chapter 22

Paint would not be alone for long. With hangdog faces, Morris and Jewel lumbered over to her.

"Paint," Morris said, "I'm glad it turned out this way, but, er... I'm- I'm sorry I didn't speak up earlier. I didn't know what kind of sentencing they'd come up with, at first. That was just obscene. And when Arrowhead's mother started hammering nails in, I... just wasn't able to respond. I don't know what it is with that woman."

"Me, too! I didn't speak up at _all_!" cried Jewel. "Maybe I was just scared of kickback from Max, but then... wow. I never saw that coming."

"He's not so bad," Paint replied. "And I'm not mad at either of you! I mean, it's not often that we have one of these debates, so they can be unsettling, I'm sure, and there wasn't really much to say that you hadn't. I'm just glad you wanted to say hey. Soooooo..." - her wry grin came back - "hey, guys!"

"So what are you gonna do now?" asked Jewel. "I mean, I wouldn't say you're loved now, but much more so."

She cheerily replied, "I'm gonna look for my dad! I mean, hey, what better way to celebrate the right to stay here forever than by leaving, right?"

Jewel didn't understand. "Your dad...? What? Isn't he...?"

Morris filled him in. "That's right. Apparently no one told her before me two days ago that her father's still alive. But he's nowhere around here; that's for sure. In fact, he lives clean on the other side of Mobius. I support Paint, but, heh, that'll be quite a quest."

"Paint, that's wonderful!" Jewel cheered. "I wish you'd told me about this before."

"Uh, yeah... I haven't really informed anyone. Arrowhead and Star know, but I think that's it. Actually, I might've let you in on it, but you had... other obligations."

Jewel bristled, remembering Maxwell's influence. "Right... So what do you know about him?"

"Well, his name is 'Miles Prower' - that's it, right, Morris?" Morris nodded, so Paint continued. "But he goes by 'Tails' on account of having two tails, like I do. He's an accomplished engineer of some sort, and apparently he's famous in that part of the world for having defeat-"

"For being one of the best engineers ever seen," Morris interrupted. "He builds all kinds of junk."

"I'd love to meet him someday," Jewel dreamed aloud. "Sunny Clearing is swell, but I feel a little cramped sometimes, and... wow, 'Paint's father' - the idea of that attracts me. Hey, uh... is your mother also... ah..."

"No, she's passed away," said Paint somberly. "Meeting her would've truly been something else."

"She was an amazing girl," Morris affirmed.

"So, anyway..." - Jewel wanted to move on, and Morris appeared thankful for this - "when do you think you'll be clearing out for good, Paint?"

"In a few days, I guess. I'll need to decide on a general route and say a few goodbyes - including to you two, obviously."

"Paint, ah, I can tell you the specifics of where your father lives and help you plan," Morris suggested. "Visit me tonight, I think."

"Will do; thanks!" said Paint. "There are a couple of people I need to speak with in the meantime, though; I'm sure you understand."

They both did: Paint had two more friends in the village with whom she had not yet regrouped after court dismissal. She made a quick scan of the area for them both; Star was playing catch with a couple of small children, but Arrowhead was nowhere in sight. Hmm, this was problematic.

"Er, I don't mean to ruin the artistic effect of my own vagueness, but have either of you seen Arrow?" she asked.

Jewel glowered. "His mom marched him off, with his dad trailing behind, right as everyone was getting ready to leave. I didn't like the look of it."

"Why isn't she letting him up?" Paint sighed. "I feel more sorry for him regarding her than I do, y'know, myself."

"Unfortunately, Paint, I think it's you," stated Morris. "She's just not done with you, and she's not happy about her son sticking by your side. It's pretty awful."

"Maybe I can mend it. He deserves to be happy, and... so does she. I think I _will_ seek them out anyway. Thanks for coming by, guys."

"You know it, Paint!" Jewel exclaimed.

"Thank _you_ for being, er, remarkably understanding," muttered Morris, and both left for their homes.

"Star! Wanna come with me to say hi to Arrow?" she shouted to her other companion.

Star beeped at her to wait before seemingly asking its new young friends if it was okay to leave. "Go ahead, Star, but come back later!" one of them instructed. "You're not done here!" Star whirred something back at them before following Paint.

"Star, what do you think about meeting Arrow's mom up close?" she suggested.

Star hissed. It did not like the woman, having every reason not to, but Paint wanted to press further.

"No dramatic chases; no rope bindings; no justice system. Just to be nice and convince her you're a good little robot. You know, seeing as you'll be living in the same town for a while. Please, Star?"

The robot faltered before whirring a few times in acceptance. It wasn't comfortable with the prospect, but for Paint, it would do it.

"Wonderful!" She reached up and rubbed its head affectionately as they set off for the toads' den. Star giggled before doing the same to her. Its cold metal hand was notably gentle.


	23. Chapter 23

"I think you should both leave."

"Honey, I really think you're being unreasonable," opined Arrowhead's father.

"And I think you're wrong," she shot back. "I'm not the one trying to use a public consensus founded on jingoistic emotional wildfire to set my best buddy I met a few days ago up with a tea party with my other best buddy's mother."

"This isn't about that," Paint pleaded. "Please try to understand: Star just wants you to know it's not angry at you after everything that went on back there and, even if you're not ready to be friends now, Star is whenever you are."

Star beeped hopefully.

"Oh, isn't that nice. I'm not at the robot's mercy, or so you two say."

Paint sighed and tried an alternative: "Well, maybe you'll come around later. Can we talk to Arrowhead for a while?"

Arrowhead's mother thrust an unfocused glance upward, exasperated at the girl's persistence. This wasn't a hill she wanted to die on, so she asked her husband, "Honey, is there anything you have planned with him today?" Arrowhead's father shook his head, so his wife said, "He's all yours, Paint. Try to stay in the general vicinity so I can hear his screams."

Arrowhead had made ostensible efforts - though likely only that - to ride along with the adventure of a novel he was reading at the table he and Paint had had dinner at the other night, but he dropped the book and scurried over to Paint and Star, and they all left the hut.

Paint started right away. "Arrow, thanks for sticking up to me at the trial. I really mean it; no one, not even Morris, was able to stand up to your mom. I don't want to vilify her completely, because none of that was for anything but her caring so much about you, but it really says something that you were willing and able to defend me anyway. Thank you."

"Uh... don't mention it. She just doesn't get it, and I was doing what I could. But listen..." This was about something different. "I've been thinking. I know you're gonna be leaving for your dad soon. I'm not sure how long the quest will take or if it'll ever take you back here. And I want to come with you."

"W-what? This is my quest across the world to find my father, Arrow. That isn't what you mean, right?"

"It is," he curtly replied.

Paint was awed. "But... but we have a bit of time together anyway. That can be enough to get our friendship where we want it to remain and say farewell. I mean... you're immeasurably important to me, Arrow - more than I've ever been to you - but you have a whole life here."

"I don't, really. I haven't done anything important... ever; I've just sat on my butt and had words fed to me my whole life. And what with my mom and Star... I don't want to be in the middle of that. It's incredibly contentious. If there's some way I can convince them to let me go with you, I'm all for it, Paint. And I really mean that. I... don't want to leave you."

She couldn't expel a single word at this.

"And hey," he finished, "we're adventurers! We're Paint and Arrowhead! There's nothing we can't accomplish together: no hill we can't climb, no river we can't traverse, no pretentious existential debate we can't circumlocute our way out of! So we stick together!"

Star piped up, beeping excitedly at Paint without ceasing.

"Star... do you want to come, too?"

Star stopped immediately and politely exhaled a long whir.

"Oh, my. It looks like I won't be going this alone, then - if you can sap the approval out of your parents, anyway. Have you brought this up to them at all?"

"I don't know if this was a good decision, but I told them last night. My dad was surprisingly open - he seemed to think of the prospect as an extended nature hike. Of course, he does understand what it'll really entail, I think... But my mom - well, you know. She... wasn't."

"That's no good," said Paint. "I wonder if there's _anything_ Star and I can do to make one last good impression on her."

"I hope so."

"Well, first of all, because I forgot:" Paint started, and she hugged both of her companions long and hard.

A pause happened, and Arrowhead asked, "So what are we doing now?"

Paint took some time in silence to consider various possible pastimes to indulge, and one jumped out like an abandoned old friend. "Heeeeeyyyyy... remember the story we were in the middle of?"

"The one with the witch? Uh... 'Pomegranate the Sparrow'?"

"Correct! Let's write more of it. I'm, heheh, finally primed to continue... Oh, but Star doesn't know about the story. We've got to fill our buddy in."

"What is there to summarize?" he wondered to her.

In response, she recapped what little they had built up before for Star, and the robot whirred in understanding. She was fairly certain that it understood the difference between reality and fiction; this was nice, because she thought the idea of explaining this grueling.

With that out of the way, she had an offer for Star. It would represent one additional step in the robot truly becoming one of them, but she knew it could do it, having been quite taken with its rationale for, and explanation of, the name it had wanted for itself.

"Star, would you like to help write?"


	24. Chapter 24

_Pomegranate the Sparrow Witch was evil, and boy was she ever happy about it._

_Sparrows normally make for noble folk, but not Pomegranate. Her feathery coat of lustrous purple - by far the purest and most beautiful of the secondary colors - was but a facade for the wickedness within her. She relished her ability never to be tied down to anything or anyone and lack of any higher standard of morals to adhere to. Her heart was impenetrable._

_And so it was that her name would be the bearer of truth about her: like Pomegranate the Witch, pomegranate the fruit is typically seen alone, and for good reason: its dark, seedy core punishes those who take innocent bites._

_-By Paint the __Plant- _(it was crossed-out) _Seedrian-Fox and Arrowhead the Toad. Arrowhead's Table University Press. Printed in Sunny Clearing. All rights reserved._

_(Continued from before.) It was after eleven o'clock at night, and Pomegranate was bored. She descended from her nest and took to the breeze, which felt great as it nuzzled her wings affectionately. Flying does a body good._

_She looked over the evil, completely deadly forest while she flew, and she noticed several interesting and exotic species of mushroom with her keen bird eyes. They were from the genus _Clitocybe_, which are commonplace in deciduous, moderate-to-cold climates like hers, so she was not surprised._

_Gaining a feeling of warm love, which wanted to persist even in the darkness of night, from the wind and environment around her, Pomegranate reconsidered whether she really wanted to be bad. The world was extending a friendly, forgiving hand to her; why did she want to keep up the pretense of wrongdoing?_

_Because it kept her from pain, of course. That had been a silly thing to concern herself with for even a few seconds. To keep this peccadillo from proliferating, she scoured the inked forest floor for opportunities for evil. Her keen bird eyes would not fail her; one such opportunity leapt out in the form of a little coyote girl crying out for her father. "Please help, miss!" the girl whined. "My father and I were playing hide-and-seek, but now I can't find him! It feels like I've spent an eternity counting._

_"I know you're a witch, but you're not _too_ evil, are you? I'm not going to judge you for some silly exterior feature like that. I just want you to help me," the pup finished, tilting her relatively flat nose down in pleading._

_Pomegranate found it hard to resist the helpless girl. How could she refuse something so vulnerable?_

_Easily, of course. "Suuuuure, I'll find him! You just sit tight," Pomegranate cooed. She rose back above the treetops in genuine pursuit. It was not, however, honest pursuit: she would find the older coyote and lead him hopelessly far away. The cold night would separate the two forever. This would be fun._

_Perhaps this was, more than anything else, a way of learning about herself: just how far she would go. She didn't know if she liked what she saw._

_It was rather frightening, when she really looked at it._

_But it was destiny! Compassion was not in her blood. Determinism is a fact, and Pomegranate was but a passenger. Interested little in pontificating further, she fixed all of her attention on the father coyote. Her persistence would not go uncompensated: he appeared down in the thicket before her wings had taken her more than five miles._

_When she swooped down, he jolted in his place, his bushy tail flicking back and forth for a few seconds as coyotes' often do. "Whoa! You startled me," he said. "I'm looking for my daughter; have you seen her? She looks... just like me! Kind of. She's pretty and rather sociable, but surprisingly lacking of confidence sometimes. You'd recognize her right away."_

_"I _have_ seen her!" Pomegranate answered. "And I liked her, too. I can show you the way."_

_Like a good witch - to the extent that such a thing exists - she led him farther and farther off into the blackness. She leeched hope from him, sardonically pleased that his journey would end in nothing but disappointment and hopelessness. _Keep your distance, old man_, she thought._

_Perhaps he sensed this, because he asked her, "I hope you're not cruelly trying to betray me. And I hope this more for you than I do for myself."_

_Pomegranate realized that he was accepting being at her mercy. This aroused a trickling of guilt deep inside her. Her obligation to be a mean, scary witch came first... right?_

_Of course! Lowering herself to the father coyote's level of intelligence as she continued to secure his eternal abandonment of his daughter, she allowed herself the simple, perfunctory question: "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean," he replied with deliberation, "that I see something good inside you that you might not, and that you might not be willing to accept yet. I want more than life itself right now to find my little girl again, because she just wanted to play with me and us getting separated too far surely can't justify something like this. And I think you can give that to me, if you learn to stop concentrating on how evil you are and learn to truly look forward._

_"Please."_

Paint set the pencil down and stared at their work so far. Star's contribution - translated from Star-speak by Paint - closed off the day's work so far. It was a fitting stopping point for Arrowhead's contribution of the previous paragraph, and Paint's contribution of the paragraph before that, in the three friends' pattern of rotating: one paragraph each for as long as they wanted, starting with Paint, of course.

She liked it. They had set up some personality and depth to their character and established her heartless nature - well, she had tried to, anyway, and had felt a bit of pushback from the other two writers, but nothing too obstructive.

All the same, though, their work had brought them to sunset - understandable through the frequently arduous mechanic of translating Star's gestures and odd noises into prose that it liked, and through all three writers taking their time in deciding what they wanted to happen. The pencil had broken at one point, too, and a replacement had taken some rummaging to find.

She remembered that Morris had wanted to speak with her that night about her nearing journey, and maybe something more. It excited her - not only the promise of cogent traveling advice and information on Tails, but also the mystique of a nighttime meeting with a figure so reclusive and new to her yet full of rare knowledge.

She also realized more immediately, as had been the case before, that she and Arrowhead were hungry. Some kind of dinner would be a nice intermission.


	25. Chapter 25

"Alright, ready to go?" Paint asked.

"Sure." Arrowhead felt the tiny masses of a few crumbs on his face and scattered them. Not wanting to be left out, Star whirred yes.

They left Arrowhead's hut for the day's last trip. The cool night was invigorating somehow, even as the girl's bodily energy slowly dissipated for lack of sunlight. The moon gazed dispassionately, obscured by no clouds. The trees waved only frailly; no breeze was around to fan them further. More calm could not have been asked for.

"Arrow," Paint reiterated, "when do you think you'll pop your question again? You know... about coming with me."

"Tomorrow, maybe. I'd prefer to do it after using up all possible efforts to convince my mom that you and Star are safe."

"Right; don't remind me..."

The walk to Morris' house had seemed to take less time than they'd been used to, but there they were. Paint rapped on the door familiarly. A light was on - from earlier, or in preparation for her arrival - and visibly so from outside the door. The familiar foot-dragging of the owner greeted them.

He pulled it open quickly. "Oh... hi. Um... I don't want to be rude, you other two, but I only asked for Paint to come here..."

"They're coming, too," she said.

"Oh. Uh..." - he glanced at their faces, which were neutral but by which he was nevertheless convinced - "yeah, okay, come in."

They all sat down in their positions from the last time they were inside the house together; Star, the new addition, looked at them for guidance and joined its two comrades on the floor.

"Alright, now... First of all, I want to give you three some perspective so you know what you're getting into." From under his chair, he pulled out an old map and a thick, dusty book with two tiny slips of paper marking pages.

The map would be their first object of examination. Morris got off his chair and knelt in front of them, spreading the map on the ground. It was about two feet by three feet, oriented horizontally such that north was up to Paint, Arrowhead, and Star and down to Morris. A dot in the center-southwest of the map was marked "Sunny Clearing". Morris pointed to a small caret-like symbol about an inch - or five miles, according to the scale - north of Sunny Clearing.

"That's the volcano that blew up the other day, the one you and you visited" - he pointed at Paint and Arrowhead.

Paint picked out a wave of carats further east of Sunny Clearing than the volcano was north. "Star," she said to the robot, "this is where we met you!"

Star purred with interest.

Morris got their attention again. "Okay, you've got the local landmarks. And trust me: these may seem exotic to you, but they are _local_. This" - he waved his hand in an ellipse, motioning to the map as a whole - "is the district of Kattekara, of which you've explored only a small part." It was a jagged region, but shaped roughly like a rectangle, with its eastern border going slightly southwest-northeast rather than straight south-north.

"Kattekara is, of course, a district of..." - he opened the tome, which turned out to be an atlas, to its second tab - "Techokko Province." He pointed Kattekara out on the page; it was only one of hundreds of districts in Techokko, which covered most of the page and was shaped vaguely like an overweight seahorse.

"And finally... Techokko is one of the three provinces that cover the continent of Adagestli." He flipped to the first tab in the atlas and showed the three friends where the province lay on the southern third of the continent, which itself was only one of several that adorned Mobius.

He picked out another province on another continent. "_This_ is where your father and all those other kids live - er, well, they're not kids anymore. _This_ is where you're going."

"W-wow..." Arrowhead looked almost dizzy at the huge magnitude of their journey.

"What's the matter - geography escape your family's massive piles of worldly literature?" Morris chided.

"I mean... Those names sound familiar, but I guess I've just never thought much about how much..."

"Forgivable," Morris continued, "in a town that's so closed to everything both inside and outside its borders."

"I'm not about to give up," Paint responded to the revelation, "but this is going to involve ocean crossing, in addition to mind-boggling amounts of walking."

"Hey, it's good exercise! You'll come out looking like chiseled gods," Morris chuckled. Paint rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but, haha, in all seriousness, you'll have to find a port city and convince someone to boat you over there. Or scrounge up a boat yourselves - one that can support a hulking Eggman robot in addition to two kids, anyway."

Paint nudged Arrowhead. "Y'know what this means? We can add seafaring to our adventuring resumes! Piracy, even!"

"I don't know, Paint..."

Morris stepped in. "Listen. You can do this - all three of you. Heck, _I_ probably could if I had the will, even in my slightly below-average health."

They looked at him inquisitively.

"As I said, get to the coast as quickly as you can. Pick a port city and head straight for it. That's your best bet. Bring, er... hats for the blazing sun, coats for the frigid points - especially you, Arrowhead; you're cold-blooded, like me - water bottles for if you can't find natural bodies of water, snacks for if there's nothing around to forage or hunt for... Basically, this will be more of a trip than most anyone in this town has ever been or will ever go on, so be as prepared as you can. I recommend knapsacks.

"But yeah, I stand by what I've said. I've given you all a hard time before, but I know you can do it. Paint, your father is lucky to have a daughter like you - and boy, I don't think he'll hesitate to go nuts when he sees you - and you, in turn, are fortunate to have these two as friends."

Star chirped in approval and the other two grinned warmly.

"Do you feel ready to go?" Morris asked.

"As ever!" Paint yipped. Arrowhead nodded, and Star whirred in usual form.

"Good. And now I think it's as prudent a time as ever that I tell you something, Paint."


	26. Chapter 26

Morris sighed resignedly and spoke up. "Remember when you first came over here and I was telling you the story of your father?"

Uneasily, Paint said, "Yeah, what about it?"

"You might remember a name from back then: 'Metarex'. To refresh, they're the group of wrongdoers that your father and his friends saved the galaxy from. They had very, very empty hearts."

"Yeahhhh...?"

"You're one of them."

"I... I don't understand," Paint murmured. "For a while now you've been extolling how good a person I am, and regardless of whether I deserve-"

"No, no. I mean, you're _one of them_. It was revealed not long after their defeat that the Metarex were Seedrians, just like your mother. They underwent deliberate transformation to become more powerful and defend themselves in a war. And your grandfather, whose name was Lucas, was their leader. He orchestrated all of it. All of that... lives within you."

Paint sat still, staring at the ground. Weakly, she squeaked, "How... how do you know this?"

"I used to live in a more... civilized area. Actually, I can tell you the name: it was the city of Namosstok, one of the most populous on Mobius. A port city, in fact; you might visit it... B-but anyway, your father and his shipmates were all visiting; they'd been invited to a gigantic celebration a few days after the Metarex's defeat. They spoke all about it. Word got out, basically.

"And while I'm normally a strong proponent of an informed populace, this part I'm not so happy about: Word got out... here. And it was... my fault.

"Let me backtrack a little. It happened that I was already beginning a move out to Techokko Province; I'd been growing weary of the city life already, but when my best friend back there passed away, I knew it was time to leave. I spent my life savings on a reliable motorcycle, packed nothing - not even a jacket or food - and jetted off into the Techokko thicket. I was looking for any town I could find... but the darn thing broke down after a while so I had to do a great deal of aimless walking. Sunny Clearing was the first town I came across, and when I showed up, exhausted and a little, er, gaunt, everyone wanted to know where I'd come from, what I knew of the outside world.

"So I told them a few things. Mostly it was innocuous information, but it included the story of the Metarex. It included that they had been docile, plant-like creatures before their demonic transformation, and it included a basic outline of what they looked like. Y'know... based on a picture of your mother that'd been cycling through the papers.

"You may have heard this, but I found you when your seed made it to Mobius. You were helpless, so I had no choice but to bring you back. At first the town seemed optimistic to raise the new baby together, but when they realized how much you matched my description of Seedrians... I'm... sure you get the picture."

Arrowhead demanded, "You mean _that_'s why the adults in this town hate Paint so much? It's their prejudice against descendants of the Metarex?"

"Well, mostly," Morris amended. "Paint, I'm sure you know you've always been a bit of a rascal. Stealing food, getting your friend here into trouble, writing creepy limericks and sharing them with children, breaking other people's property - on accident, I know, but still... Er, the genetic debacle was the main part of it, but when they saw you misbehaving, it only confirmed their suspicions. You were destined to be, at worst, a complete sociopath and, at best, no one they'd want around if they could help it.

"But they... they were wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was all quiet, the stupor lasting for five minutes at least, until Paint spoke in staccato. "I'm... a Metarex. I'm programmed for... cruelty. I-it's in my blood."

Arrowhead wouldn't have it. "Paint, that's not true! You've never had an _evil_ moment in your life as long as I've known you! Star owes its life to your kindness!"

Star whirred resoundingly, not about to let her despair.

Flatly and after more time, Paint replied, "I just don't know anymore. I'd never thought I'd be able to blame myself on anything at all like this."

Arrowhead was ready to cry. "P-Paint... please, don't..."

She silenced him. "Arrow. It's... it's okay. Morris, I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't know what would happen."

Not ready to accept this, Morris ventured, "Paint, are you sure you're oka-"

"No, I'm not okay!" She was sobbing, crumbling down in frustration at her ugly heritage. "I'm a Metarex! I've been optimistic before, but I'm never going to get better! My mom's species _is_ why I can never do anything right, why I can never just be good! Whoever said plants are serene needs to drop dead. I don't want anyone near me! I don't want anyone to be around for me to hurt any longer! It's a good thing I'm leaving - I can do that right now and never come back!" But she did not; she buried her face in the fronds above her knees and continued to sob hopelessly.

Arrowhead and Morris were distressed, but did not know how to comfort her or dissuade her from her fatalist nightmare. Star, however, took action. It beeped authoritatively at Paint; it was important that she listen. She peeked one dewy eye out at the robot, a grain of her curiosity emerging above her crushing waves of sorrow.

Star ratcheted its arm up to point at itself, then made its trademark Eggman gesture before emitting a disapproving beep. It patiently waited for her to timidly nod that she had understood, then it pointed at her and stood still, raising its arms as far as they would reach and fanning them out with increased elevation. Then followed the same beep. Paint's eyes stayed wide open and attentive.

Paint was not fit to interpret for herself - or perhaps she understood but was too afraid to believe - so Arrowhead made the atypical move of stepping in to translate. "Paint," he soothed, "that last gesture was supposed to be a tree - some general kind of plant. Star is saying that just like how it isn't Eggman, you aren't the Metarex."

To affirm, Star mimed arbitrary acts of violence - it didn't know the details of the Metarex's conquest style, but that didn't matter here - and reformed the tree gesture. No sound followed; Star was equating the two. To finish the contrast, it pointed lovingly at Paint and then at its own head.

Arrowhead finished: "The Metarex were violent, but you aren't, and Star knows that. In fact, you've done the exact opposite of violence by taking the explosives out of Star's head, which I wasn't brave enough to. Star adores you, and it doesn't believe you have any chance of being truly bad."

She had finally absorbed it. She squeezed Star like a softer and much smaller plush toy and wept onto its cool, metal hull. It purred in loving response.

Morris was awed by Star's massively comforting effect on her. He had never been one for emotional outreaching, but the robot had done perhaps the most effective, artfully simple job possible.

He grunted as he raised himself from the ground and joined in the embrace.

"Thank you, Star," he whispered. "Thank you so much."


	27. Chapter 27

"I still think it's oddly cool of your mom to let Star and me sleep inside, Arrow," whispered Paint against the silence of the outdoors and of Arrowhead's parents' slumber.

"Well, I don't think you should get too confident," he added. "It was either this or have us all sleep outside, where she wouldn't be able to hear us. Plus, she's loosening her grip a little seeing as how, you know, at the very least _you're _leaving town soon." His round, grey-brown face might have been eerie, illuminated unnaturally by the candlelight as it was, except that Paint had no room for fear right then.

"Still... Anyway, when we _do_ go, which way do you want to take to the ocean? There are a lot of different port cities that might be able to accommodate us; we can pick whichever we like. Ooh, 'Keldaghak' - if I'm pronouncing it right - sounds ancient and cryptic!"

"Why not just Namosstok? We know that's a decently reputable place; Morris just got tired of it," he reasoned.

"Hungering for the big-city life, eh, Arrow? You don't have to hide that; So am I! Let's do it. Star, you game?"

Star whirred excitedly, not seeming to care that its wide, blocky body was comical in barely fitting under the large blanket that extended across and to the side of Arrowhead's bed. The comforter was rarely used and often forgotten about, but Star had seen it folded up and wanted to be under the thing's embrace just like its friends.

"Please quiet down, both of you..." Arrowhead whispered with some anxiety.

"My mistake. Anyway, yeah, that works. I guess it makes sense to use a large municipality - you know, a larger pool of boaters to offer us their generosity. I hope. Then we can ask for a ride to my dad's continent, which is called... uh... 'Freedom'!"

"Hey, they use actual Mobian words for most of the places over there instead of our ancient-language mumbo-jumbo," Arrowhead noted. Sure enough, lots of the place names on Freedom seemed to convey information about how exotic and interesting they could be.

"Hey, yeah! Look at this one: 'Ice Paradise'. Some kind of skiing resort, I bet - hey, most people wouldn't be that adventurous, but whatever brings in the dough, right? And it's so close to this 'Sky Canyon'; weird..."

"I bet your dad's been to those places." Arrowhead was getting intrigued, too, seemingly beyond the possibility for scientific observations.

"Heck yeah, I bet my dad and his friends chase Eggman around these places all the time! I hope they'll show us around sometime - maybe we can contribute to the Egg-beating." For a long time without speaking, all three of them pored over the map Morris had given them, night-dreaming wildly of exploring these magical lands.

Eventually, with a thick, enveloping yawn, Paint asked him, "I'm tired. Want to postpone our speculation - as engrossing as it is - until tomorrow?" The blanket was becoming quite inviting, like a finish line to one of many exhausting races with one's family cheering one on at the other side. It had been a long and eventful day for all parties present; Paint could hardly believe the village's clocks had not even made two complete turns during all of it.

"I think so," he replied, and they both crept out and brushed their teeth. Even Star looked beat, if for no other reason than that it was bored and knew its friends would be going to sleep, so it would have no reason to stay up later.

When they had returned to bed, Paint bid her two companions a good night, to which they responded likewise, and her journey into dreamland was rapid and well-oiled.

This one, atypically, did not appear to be concerned with her father. Paint was... a giant tree of some kind, or at least a giant tree of some kind was the protagonist of the dream. She was planted on a snowy hillside along with hundreds of other trees - sequoias, most of them. It was early in the morning; the sky burned violet and scarlet above the drab landscape. Her hill-mates were all barren of leaf-coats, as was she.

Paint could not move, but that didn't register for panic or discomfort; it was like a fish reasoning out that it could not roll a bowling ball while blissfully whipping along with its school. However, the fact dawned on her, as did the sun on the seasonally embarrassed forest canopy, that she was a little bored. How long would she be here with no mouth or other communication organs with which to reach out to the other trees?

As if to soothe her from these thoughts, Cosmo flitted up from somewhere far below. She was a golden-white, shimmering fairy-like thing, not closely resembling either real Paint or dream Paint, and yet dream Paint knew at once who she was.

"My child, I am concerned," expressed Cosmo in her angelic, resonant voice. "I do not want you to despair."

_I'm not despairing_, Paint insisted telepathically - or was she actually saying it? Sometimes this was hard to discern.

"Yes, you are. You are still afraid that the terrible actions of my family live on in you, just waiting with bated breath for an opportunity to pounce and render wrong the world."

_I don't think so... Okay, maybe a little. So what? Care to correct me, Mom?_

"They were corrupted by outside forces. They were weak. You are not."

_Hey, me seeing things means I have something like eyes here, right? How do I roll them? Or is that not how this works?_

"You have a fire inside you that I never did. Perhaps it comes from your father."

_I'm sure he's great..._

"There are reasons I loved him, of course. There are reasons we decided to let our passions go and-"

_Ooooookay, I think I've heard enough._

"Paint, all morning I have been hearing resistance to you wanting to be happy. Why is that?"

_I'm plenty happy..._ _I know I am..._

Cosmo emitted further sound, but its semantic value was obscured by loud, crashing noises. Paint was disoriented and primally frightened, while her mother did not give any indication of noticing.

_What the-_

Paint jolted awake, as did Arrowhead and both of his parents. Star had been booted awake by the noises, too, and was walking outside to pioneer an investigation. It was sometime in the morning, and Paint had no clue what was going on.

Screams pierced through the warm air, and Paint knew at once that something was horribly wrong. She sprang up and bolted outside, trailed closely by Arrowhead.

His parents were not far behind, and before she had gotten far, Paint heard his mother's terrified gasp: "Oh, no. Please, no..." The plea was, for once, not directed at her or Star, but at what else waited outside, past Star's grasp.


	28. Chapter 28

Two E-1030s, Star's siblings, had planted themselves stubbornly within the town's boundaries. They were indistinguishable from Star besides being slightly more dirty and not visibly taking the villagers' side. They were firing their guns all around while standing in place, not hitting anyone or ostensibly attempting to, but causing great public fear nonetheless.

"Star... are those your two old 'friends' that abandoned you way back when?" Arrowhead gasped. He had never seen any of Eggman's other robots and had never expected to so soon. It was a pity that they couldn't have been more friendly, but then again, Star did seem to be an anomaly.

Star whirred in affirmation, distracted by the robots' menacing presence.

Other villagers had shown up in mixed flavors of curiosity. Paint saw Morris among them; he looked quizzically between the two new robot arrivals and Star, and when he caught Paint's eye, he jogged over to Arrowhead's hut.

One of the two other E-1030s launched a quick, sporadic series of noises in Star's direction, and Star responded in kind. Apparently this was the language with which E-1030s communicated amongst themselves; regrettably, with no body language to supplement the garbling, Paint had no idea what it meant.

The two parties of robots remained squared off and unsympathetic to each other, so Paint asked, "Star, what do those two want?"

Star hesitated, unsure whether it would be wise to divert its glare from its two adversaries, but it decided to go ahead and gesture an explanation: they were looking for some kind of object - a valuable rock or gemstone, maybe - and were demanding any information anyone knew on it.

Paint whispered this guess to Morris, and he asked brazenly out loud, "Are you looking for Chaos Emeralds?"

Clearly that phrase was a trigger to them, as they rushed over to Morris and, before he could resist, angrily grabbed his upper arms and dragged him back to their starting point.

"HEY!" Paint screeched. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HIM?!" She sprinted up to protect the iguana from harm, but one of the robots pushed her away roughly. She tumbled backward into the dirt, dazed but still furious.

"Leave her alone!" Morris shouted to his captors. "She doesn't know anything about the Emeralds - as a matter of fact, neither do I! Er, not anything contemporary, anyway. I saw them before, long ago, but-"

"Morris, shut up..." Arrowhead whispered to no one in particular but with heavy anxiety.

The robots were not amused with this specimen seemingly taunting them by withholding vital details about the Emeralds' whereabouts. They squeezed more tightly, likely cutting off the blood flow to his arms. The one that, to Paint, Star, and Arrowhead's family, was on the right side beeped a message in the E-1030 language at Morris. It was a sinister, threatening one that none of them could understand precisely, but Paint understood that they had had enough of his games.

"What do you want?" he pleaded. "They're well-known artifacts, I mean..." Tiny beads of sweat were beginning to cling to his face.

Finally, the robot on the right held both of Morris' upper arms while the other stood a few meters away and readied its gun at Morris' legs. Because they had not taken kindly to his apparent silliness, they would give him a grievous injury to force him to take them seriously and tell them everything they wanted. Paint could not believe it - maybe they would kill him.

The enraged Star bolted up and yelled at its two former companions in the E-1030 language. Without warning, the robot on the left shifted its aim to Star and fired its gun. Paint was horrified, all of her breath siphoned from her chest. The air was static and apathetic.

Star shrieked in agony... until it realized it had not been harmed. Through all of their cavalier warning shots, the robots had run out of ammunition.

However, Star, the village savior, had not. As soon as it realized this, it slowly raised its own gun up to its jilted executioner, then waved it in the direction of Morris' guardian, with a clear message that they had both better leave for good. For good measure, it picked a direction in which no one was standing and fired a round to demonstrate.

Slowly, they plodded away with proverbial tails between their legs, the one on the right absentmindedly letting go of Morris, who rubbed his upper arms tenderly in relief.

Star continued to proclaim its consternation to its former teammates as they trailed off and, when they had gotten out of sight, chirped cutely at Paint as if to ask if it had done a good job. Paint and Arrowhead ran up right away to hug it, and the crowd that had gathered exploded in cheers. Villagers of all ages bubbled up to thank Star for rescuing Morris and, more indirectly, the rest of the town.

When Paint craned her neck around to survey, something unbelievable caught her eye: Arrowhead's mother was beaming alternately at her and Star in wholehearted approval.

"Mom, I really hope this has changed your mind about them," Arrowhead suggested to her.

She did not deny this.

Naturally, Paint and Star were both invited back over for breakfast that morning, as was Morris, who managed to restrain himself from taking more than his share of toast and any less than his share of fruit.

In the heat of the excitement afterwards, Arrowhead made the bold move of asking outright, "Mom, does this change your mind about it being okay for me to... you know, go with Paint? And Star, too?"

"Yes, it does," she assured. "My doubts have been erased that those two will be sufficient travel companions able to protect you. Being your mother, of course, I still want to hear from you whenever you first find a telephone - I will, of course, get our old one up and running in preparation - but until then, I want you to enjoy yourself. Most of us never find cause like this for such an exciting journey."

His father whispered playfully, "Take pictures of any of the fungi we haven't found, documented, and scrapbooked yet. It wouldn't be cheating if _you_ at least were there, right?"

Morris demanded in a similar tone, "Also, if and when you get to Namosstok, _please_ don't join the Socialist Party - for me. They aren't what they seem..."

Ignoring both men, Arrowhead's mother gladly allowed Star the dignity to be spoken to directly and openly: "Star, be good to my son - for yourself, as well as for me and Paint. If you can get past how passive he is - not that that's always an easy endeavor - he's a good son and a better friend, as Paint I'm confident can confirm.

"Now, Arrowhead, I'm not letting you leave today - at the very least, I need one more day with my son - but I _can_ help you pack everything you'll need. Enjoyment is most accessible through thorough preparation. You will, of course, need your maps, and..." She trailed off and began to rummage through the house's drawers for items he would need, wincing occasionally at the disorganization.

"Hey, Arrow," Paint suggested enthusiastically, "what if I gave you a tattoo of myself and Star - y'know, to proclaim our undying love and loyalty to one another? The Paint Parlor is open for business!"

"Don't push your luck, sweetheart," his mother chuckled.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's note: I meant to post this last night, but someone turned off the Wi-Fi in my house out of spite before I was done. Sorry about that.**

"Hey, Morris," Arrowhead put forth, "how will we know when we've found Tails and his friends? I mean, we don't even know what they look like, or anything about _where_ on Freedom we might meet them."

"Hmm, you're right... Well, if memory serves, the papers labeled Sonic as being a friendly boy from Green Hill Zone, or somewhere nearby."

"'Green Hill Zone'... Here, let's check the map..." Paint pulled out the relevant cartography and, before long, located this Green Hill on Freedom. "Oh! That's not _that_ far from 'Ice Paradise' or from the coastline! We can do that!" It was an inviting location, not least of all in the transparent minimalism of its nomenclature.

"It's hundreds of miles, Paint..." Arrowhead muttered.

Morris remembered the rest of the request given him. "It's not so much the distance - you'll have traveled much farther than that already - the topography will be the laborious part. Speaking of 'miles', though... Paint, er, Tails, as you know, is a yellow-orange fox with two tails. He's pretty nondescript otherwise, except for his giant blue eyes - just like yours! - and, if he didn't pick up a mohawk or whatever during his teenage years, his dorky tuft of fur right on his forehead, like three wilting grass blades, heh. Also had a pipsqueak soprano voice when I heard him being interviewed, though again, this could've changed... Otherwise, I dunno, you see a fox flying like a helicopter, you know that's who hoo-ha'd your mom."

"Hmm, what about Tails' friends?" Arrowhead suggested.

"Oh! That computes. Sonic the Hedgehog... is fast. Really, really fast. I mean, hedgehogs normally are, but... I mean, his mother must've been popping jalapenos every minute while she was expecting. If you somehow don't recognize him by that, he's a royal-blue guy with obnoxious, long, spiky hair.

"Amy Rose is another hedgehog, but her fur's pink, and the hair on her head... I don't think had the length of Sonic's. Always made her presence known: she used to go nuts for Sonic, always squeezing him and introducing him as her 'boyfriend', so wherever he is, she's likely to be close by. And she had some kind of... club, maybe? N-no, it was a hammer - a real garish, unsightly one, too. And I guess girls usually wear dresses in their part of the world, and hers was similarly ugly."

"Uh... Knuckles the Echidna was there, too. Don't remember as much about him, but he had red fur, and long hair like Sonic's. On the quiet side, I guess. As well as... S-Sugar- no, _Cream_ the Rabbit. And her Chao, named... named... ah, I don't remember. And... urgh, I know there were others, one of them a crocodile, one of them a weird, flirtatious bat - I didn't get a good feeling from her - and... Oh, and there was a human boy, Chris something-or-other."

Everyone stared at Morris blankly.

"Yeah, I know; I'm sorry. Wish I'd kept a paper from back then. I remember detailed articles being written to profile all of the heroes; I just didn't get around to reading them much, and what I did... I mean, it's been eleven years, at least."

Paint had expected a little more detail than this, but it had been a long time for Morris, and he had tried as hard as he could to help her. "It's okay," she reassured, "obviously I'll recognize Tails, and-"

"Wait, what am I talking about? _Tails_ \- of course! I bet if any of them saw you... I mean, your face is the spitting image of his, and paired with the foliage-like parts of your arms and legs, I bet any of those kids would put two and two together right away upon you entering their field of vision."

This brightened her up. "Hey, maybe you're right! I am a pretty girl, heheh, and if they all knew Tails and Cosmo, why not? Urgh, I can't wait to meet them!"

At this point, Arrowhead's father looked a little down; he wasn't thrilled with her being _this_ excited to leave Sunny Clearing. "Paint, you know we'll miss you, too. I know this is something you have to do, but..."

"Don't worry; we'll come back eventually!" she confirmed. "I'm not letting that un-ban go to waste; that's for sure. And I swear on Arrow's life - just kidding, my own - that as soon as we find some way to keep in touch with you, you'll get to here aaaaallllll about our adventure - you know, how much danger we've been placed in, how sick we've gotten, and how we wish we'd never left. Count on it!"

"Alright; you do that," he snickered.

Arrowhead's mother was still in the process of packing for her son and his best friend; this caught Morris' eye and jogged his memory to a gift of his own. "Oh, Paint!" he exclaimed while pulling out a wooden-bead necklace with a locket that he had brought. "It's not much, but I want you to have this for your journey."

"Aw, Morris," Arrowhead moaned, "I don't like fiction that much and even _I_ know that's a cliche. What's inside it: a picture of you?"

"Heck no! What better way to secure your disappointment when you come back and find me more ravaged by age than the picture would've compelled you to think? Hmph. No, it's got a key inside - check it out, haha!"

"Better, but still cliched," Arrowhead muttered as Paint obliged and examined the strange metal pick inside.

"It's to my old storage locker at Namosstok City Bank, ya jerks... If you're going to be there for any length of time, it may help you to have one, and... er, it's not empty."

"You mean you left something inside before you abandoned the city?" Paint inquired. This was an interesting development. He couldn't have known that he would meet someone like them, she reasoned, but why else would it be there, whatever it was?

"Yup! Not telling, though. Check it out if you get a chance." She could not tell from his face or mannerisms one way or the other what might lie inside. It would just have to be another mystery to coax them along the arduous path to Tails, to Paint setting the past right.

She did, however, sense a conversational lull. "Uh... is that it?"

"Well... _I _can't think of anything else to tell you now. Uh, either of you?" He leaned half-attentively in the directions of Arrowhead's parents. Both of them shrugged; his father began rifling through a drawer for something unrelated while his mother continued packing.

"Copacetic! Hey, uh, Arrowhead, Star, and I are gonna head outside now for our last full day here - maybe say a few early goodbyes or something. We'll see you all later today, okay?"


	30. Chapter 30

After checking that the trio was out of earshot of its anuran member's parents, Paint pulled the other two aside behind a tree, a thick and protective rowan. She lowered her eyes and voice to speak to her two best friends in a sensitive, honest, and almost remorseful way.

"Listen, guys... Are you sure you want to come with me? I... I don't want to pressure you two into something you don't want to do of your own accord. I don't want to be your master, only your equal and listening friend. Arrow, you can still back out if you want to; I'll understand, and I'm sure your mom and dad will, too. And Star... well, you don't have a mom, and your other parent I don't think you're interested in seeing."

Star oriented its face slightly upward and whirred snootily at the mention.

Arrowhead replied, "Paint, I'm sticking with you; remember? I meant everything I said after your trial. I've never had friends as loyal and close as you two. There's not n_othing_ for me here, of course, but I'll affirmatively enjoy traveling with you. I want to meet Tails, too." He shrunk back a little, looking disappointed that he wasn't able to communicate his insistence on staying with her with more vigor but without coming off too clingy.

Star chirped in pleasure. It wouldn't give her up nearly this easily.

Paint continued her cautioning: "You know this is gonna take months, if not years, right? I mean..."

"Yeah, I know," he asserted, "and I like that. I've never been away from home for more than a few days, and if I don't now, maybe I never will - at least not for some time. And besides, if we're coming back, why does this have to be that big a deal? It's like my dad said - a... massively... extended nature hike! I want it."

Star demonstratively took a few steps in place, mock-marching with power and conviction. It then looked at Paint to make sure she understood that its legs were working fine and it would be able to keep up the pace for as long as it took.

They were both clearly steadfast in being the second and third leaf of her shamrock, so she brightened up and embraced them. "Thanks, guys. I owe you one - er, one each, I guess. Let's do this; let's reach out to everyone we're gonna miss. Heyyyyy... we can start with Jewel and Max! Let's find them!"

"You don't have to," stated a craggy voice from the nearby shadows. Maxwell and Jewel hopped out, having eavesdropped for most, if not all, of the conversation.

"What are you doing here?!" Arrowhead shouted. He didn't like this one bit.

"Our little scavenger friend here has... a request to make of you three weirdos." Maxwell pushed Jewel forward. The little golden-brown hyena trembled, but not for fear of his firefly associate.

"What Max means is, ah, that... um... we..." he stammered.

"C'mon, Jewel; I know I've taught you better than this," Maxwell said impatiently.

Jewel blurted, "We want to come, too!"

Arrowhead tensed up in protest and Star stared quizzically, but Paint interjected, "Why do you want to?"

"We don't want any of you guys to leave us behind," Jewel explained, "and... well, Arrow said it all, haha! Exploration! It's exciting!" His excitement looked massively genuine.

"Are Carol and your dad okay with this...?" she asked him.

"Of course!" he proclaimed. "And my mom's getting everyone in the village together tonight; everyone's powwowing as a sendoff."

"Uh... what about you, Max? I- I mean..." she sputtered.

"Hah! Gimme a break. I could cut my own wings off and wear a kimono all day and they wouldn't notice or care," he said quietly while staring diagonally at the ground.

"You guys had better be serious about this," Arrowhead said sternly, his smooth, vaguely slimy arms akimbo. "I like you, of course, but this is Paint's journey and I hope you can treat her with the dignity she deserves and has so rarely gotten." With this, he nodded in Maxwell's direction.

Maxwell protested, "Would we traipse across the planet if we weren't serious? Of course we're for real, Narrowhead! We'll just have to get ready; that's all."

"Good," Arrowhead curtly answered without betraying any kind of smile. "Now, uh, Paint," he continued, "I want to help with my own packing. I'd appreciate it if you'd come pretty soon, too. My mom likes you - she really does - but she's working awfully hard." He headed back home, and Star trooped alongside him.

"Actually, I need to prepare, too," Jewel admitted before excusing himself in accordance.

Glad that they were now alone, Maxwell glanced back at Arrowhead and muttered to Paint, "He's kinda cute when he's angry, eh?"

She giggled and whispered back, "Stick around and keep being yourself, and you can see more."

Maxwell laughed in response and trailed off to ready himself as well. When he was gone, Paint took a few minutes to notice and enjoy the strong, pulsating estival sun shining on her. It felt wonderful underneath her skin - she figured she was producing tiny amounts of glucose there. These days were sublime, and she knew she would miss them when her crew had gnashed far enough into the wilderness for the climate to be different.

Likewise was she warmed by the sweetness of Maxwell sidestepping his ongoing pushiness and general roughness to journey with them. Jewel, too - willingly accompanying Maxwell for months or years on end. She was becoming as excited, if not moreso, for her companions to meet Tails and his companions as she was for herself to.


	31. Chapter 31

"Paint, you're terrible at shuffling. Let me do it," Maxwell groaned.

She shrugged and handed him the deck. "Go ahead." Arrowhead, sitting clockwise from Paint, and Jewel, counterclockwise from her, quietly sighed with relief.

"Oooookay, let's see who's going first," said Maxwell. Everyone took a face-down card from the top of the deck.

Paint's was a six - a mediocre offering considering that card values went from three to eleven.

"Show yourselves," Maxwell commanded when everyone had picked one. Paint's six was matched with a seven from Arrowhead, another seven from Maxwell, and an eleven from Jewel. The cards were then shuffled back into the belly of the deck.

"Not bad, buddy. Go ahead," said the firefly to his subordinate.

Jewel picked a card, looked it over, and set it in the position nearest himself - the first row. Paint would not be able to trade because there was no way she could place a card closer to herself than his was to him, while Maxwell would be able to trade using a card in any position farther away from himself than the first row. She took this as an instinctive response on Jewel's part to keep it away from her because she was the next in line - she figured it was of a high value and he did not want to lose it.

That was fine. She drew a card - a cool ten - and placed it face-down in the fourth row. Arrowhead would be able to exchange any card that was not placed in his fourth or fifth row for it. Deception was the key to the game of Forward Slash - one had to do whatever it took to make the highest value available from one's own cards and those to the proverbial northeast and southwest of them - and she would make ample use of it.

Arrowhead took a card, grimaced at it, and put it in his third position. He then exchanged it with Paint's ten and smiled when he saw his reward. Paint's prize was a paltry three, but she made sure to grin wider for Jewel to see, as though it was a cool winning he would want.

Completely emotionlessly, Maxwell adopted the inaugural member of his troop of plastic rectangles, set it in his first row, and traded it with Arrowhead for Paint's old ten. Arrowhead didn't seem to like what he had gotten; Maxwell continued to keep his thoughts curtained.

Jewel mechanically swiped a second card from the deck and placed it in his fifth row. Paint had thought she would be able to avoid him forever - well, no more! He slyly plucked Paint's only card and gave her his new catch in its place. His face fell, however, when he realized he'd been tricked by her feint and his trophy was a three, not the much higher value he had prophesied. Paint, however, now had an eight.

Paint's turn passed uneventfully with an uncontested seven joining her eight - two new siblings with a bond fragile enough to be torn to disappearing, gleaming strands at the slightest hint of malevolence. It was tragic, in a way, but such was the natural law of the game.

The game pressed on, but it did lose momentum. Perhaps Star's presence could have kept it going; alas, its hands might not have been of much use in holding the tiny cards and, moreso, being keen enough to keep them hidden from view as it looked them over. It would, however, have been masterful at keeping up poker faces. At least it was probably content helping Arrowhead's mother out with packing and other tasks.

In one of the game's lulls, Paint took the opportunity to drum up a conversation. "Hey, you two wouldn't know this" - she told Jewel and Maxwell - "but Morris gave us something yesterday."

"Cool, what?" chirped Jewel.

"It's a key." She pulled it out and held it for everyone to see. "Opens Morris' bank vault in Namosstok, the city that he's originally from and that we'll be visiting on account of it being by the waterfront."

"Man, that's gotta be almost as dusty as his loser house," Maxwell mused. "What's he hoarding in that vault, anyhow?"

"He didn't say," Arrowhead answered. "It's mighty mysterious." It was a pity that he couldn't offer more information to his friends; Paint really was curious. Could it be a useful or interesting token he no longer needed, or - on a sadder note - something he just wanted to leave behind and thought they should have?

"I bet this is a giant ruse and it's his old, sweaty cleats or something," suggested Maxwell with a snaking smirk.

"All this way just for that? I highly doubt it," Arrowhead scoffed. "W-well, not _just_ for that, ahaha... Paint, it's your turn, by the way."

"Buh? Oh, thanks. Hmm..." The dealings looked to be in her favor. From what she knew of her own cards and could remember of where her old ones had traveled, everyone's columns looked like this, with the first row - the closest to that player - at the left:

_Paint: 9 / 5 / 11 / 10 / 8_

_Arrowhead: 5 / ? / ? / ? / 6_

_Maxwell: ? / ? / 8 / ? / ?_

_Jewel: 3 / 7 / ? / ? / ?_

The deck in the center of it all was not empty, because Forward Slash and other traditional Techokkan card games they knew could be played with more than four players, so Paint could not tease out exactly how many of each number were on the playing field. However, by basic statistical intuition, she was more likely to win than anyone else: her column's values totaled 43 points for an average of 8.6 - higher than anyone else's average from their cards whose values she knew.

Besides, she was tiring of the game, so she took the ultimate risk of finality: "I claim victory!" In turn, each player was now to hand her their cards to be looked over, so it would be known whether she was the true winner. This was done one at a time so that, if she was wrong and automatically forfeited the game, they would be able to continue to play with the mystery of not knowing one another's cards.

Arrowhead's remaining cards were... a 6, a 3, and a 11 - an average of 6.2.

Jewel hadn't done quite as well: his column finished off with a 4, another 3, and an 8 - an average of 5.0.

Now it was time for Maxwell's - the final frontier. His column was populated, outside the 8, by a 10... a 7... another 8... and an 11. This made for an average of... 8.8.

"Drat... I guess you win, Max," she exhaled. "8.6 was my average. Good game." - A safe revelation for the other two players, as they still did not know how much they would have to beat that score by, assuming Maxwell's column stayed fairly constant. This was disappointing; she had been so sure of a victory. Ah, well, perhaps that had been unwise.

"What are you gonna do now, Paint?" Jewel wondered aloud, concerned that she would be upset.

"I would stay with you guys, but I think I should help Star and Arrow's ma with the packing..." Was this just an excuse? She didn't know, but if so, it was a deceptively respectable one.

"Later," Maxwell muttered before they quietly returned to the game.

As Paint walked off, she was pleased about at least one thing: that a fleeting suggestion of card-playing from four days ago could be rekindled so easily on a lazy late-afternoon at Arrowhead's behest. Follow-through was good.


	32. Chapter 32

"Star, I don't suppose Eggman ever spoke with you alone much, did he?" asked Arrowhead's mother. The idea was amusing, if in a sad way, that he would order his robots around without getting to know them and teaching them about the ways of the world - or at least the ways of fighting with animals.

Alas, it also seemed to be true. Star emitted a long and sorrowful beep, and Arrowhead's mother, for the first time, showed deep concern for the robot. She leaned in and gave it a jolly hug. "Just like the scoundrel he is. I can't say I'm surprised," she observed.

Star cooed in comfort, and Paint asked the toad, "So, uh... what are we looking for now?"

"Oh, that's right - a jacket. For Arrowhead, at least. I hope you understand that he gets priority here, Paint, not because I don't care about you, but because we're not warm-blooded like you are. I'll look for another of a similar size if we find one for him, though."

"Hmm... and you haven't seen one in any of the drawers or cupboards?" Paint took another owl's-head tour around the hut: Arrowhead's mother had ransacked the contents of at least half of them, and even some of the shelves. Books ranging from a reconstructed grammar of the Proto-Echidna language and ancient Techokkan myths to an illustrated book of baobabs and a novel written by a local author lay disheveled and vulnerable on the floor, while others stayed at home on the shelves. Frying pans, a guitar with two broken strings, two extra strings, a manual on guitar tuning, and even a rickety ladder had been upset in the struggle for the toad tween's future warmth.

"I haven't yet. The squalor here rankles me to no end, but I suppose I must understand that my husband needs to have his endless rock samples, excavation tools, and exotic pinecones they've both likely forgotten all about already."

"Uh... when do you think he'd have last needed it?" Paint suggested.

"I... guess that'd have been a few months ago, at the end of winter. Let's see... I recall going out with him for firewood - Star! Cut that out, please!" - Star, who was playing with an eggbeater and a valuable but empty vase, whirred guiltily - "Sorry, Paint. Anyway, we went out while his father stayed home and put on a pot for tea. Irony was with us, though; the next day was much warmer and the weather never recanted, though I guess if we could find the bloody thing and he wasn't leaving, he'd be pulling it in a few more months for the turning of autumn."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find it and it'll go to good use. D'you remember what you and he did when you got back here after collecting the wood?"

"Oh, dear, ummmm... Oh! The tea was ready, and he and his father wanted some sugar. For some reason we kept that, along with some lesser-used spices, in a tin up in the attic - might've had to do with the rest of the house being free of space. I wasn't focused on Arrowhead's coat, but I wouldn't at all put it past him to have left it up there."

"Let's get it, then!" Paint sang. She arched her legs over the various floor-borne obstacles and pulled the ladder over to Arrowhead's mother. Star took the thing in its arms and leaned it against its body, as this would allow her to reach the attic from an optimal point.

"Thank you, Star," Arrowhead's mother said softly. She placed one foot above the other until she had reached the ceiling. Squares of blackness peeked out from between the spaced wooden slats that made up the ceiling, but squares of pink sky peeked out from inside those figures, presumably from the hut's skylights.

The woman pushed up the trapdoor to allow her to access the attic, but without warning her foothold on the ladder snapped. All three inside shrieked as she fell down and... Star caught her. She wasn't even injured by the collision with the robot's metal-plated arms, as it had moved them slightly downward to cushion her fall by slowing her otherwise-instantaneous deceleration to zero.

She gasped in shock at the close serious injury and, when she had gathered herself, wheezed, "Star... thank you so much."

Everyone needed a minute to calm down, and the woman regained control, commanding, "Okay, we still need a way up there. Arrowhead surviving the winters is more important than my acquiescent comfort."

"We won't have to pit those two against each other," Paint cheerfully stated. "Star, how about giving your buddy Paint a boost?" The robot instantly understood and lifted her up to the ceiling, where she removed the trapdoor with ease and scrambled up top.

It was a surprisingly spacious compartment. There were lots of dusty boxes stacked around - more books, as well as old documents, mostly. Paint also noticed some old photos of much younger versions of Arrowhead's mother and father, and of other toads and family friends she did not recognize. There was even one of Amin, posing with a bodacious array of carrots, squash, and other vegetables for the village. Paint smiled to see that one, but more so when she found a tiny tricycle.

"Do you see it up there?" Arrowhead's mother called.

Paint's brain reverted to the task at hand. "Not yet!" she shouted back - a bit loudly since they could see each other through the regular square holes in the floor.

Perhaps she could, though. An old chest Paint was astonished to see was supported by the building's frame contained some old hats, boots, and two matching and fancy kimonos too large for Arrowhead. And right next to it, crumpled on the floor - but on top of a thick thesaurus, which explained it not being seen through the holes - was a cute brown jacket of just the right size! Perhaps it had been a smidgen large on him then, but it would certainly not be too small now.

Well, he had one, and that was... no, there was another one just for her! "I found it - I found _two_!" Paint cried downstairs.

"Wonderful!" rang the voice. "Let's see them."

"Oh, Sta-ar!" Paint sang joyfully. The robot, who had been playing with some pillows and tossing them around, much to Arrowhead's mother's chagrin, arrived obediently to receive Paint. She lowered one leg, then the other, and Star helped her down. With both coats in hand, Paint presented them to the other animal in the house.

"These will look great on you - and so sturdy, too! I'll pack them right up. Thanks, both of you." And she did: one jacket was stuffed into each prepared satchel.

Paint's wandering eyes took her to the window, where she saw that a couple of villagers had left their homes. That was it! "Hey, the sendoff's gonna start soon!" she shouted excitedly. "I'm gonna go find Arrow, Jewel, and Max! They've gotta be done with their game by now..." She was about to run out the door, but doubled back and tightly hugged Arrowhead's mother first. Seizing the opportunity to get a few last words in, she told Paint, "See if you can locate my husband as well. I swear..."

"I will! C'mon, Star! We can't say farewell to the old haunt before we mouse up the rest of the crew!" she yelled back. The robot, which - even standing up - was humorously large inside the building, clumsily tramped through and followed Paint. Arrowhead's mother raised her palm to her face at the house regaining some of its messiness, but chuckled at the two excitable friends anyway.


	33. Chapter 33

Paint and Star returned to the game site to find Arrowhead, Jewel, and Maxwell still sitting idly with sodas. The first of these humble card-players lowered his head in apprehension to see her coming.

She picked up right away. "Arrow, what's wrong?"

"Paint, don't get mad, but... I told them your secret... th- the 'Metarex' one," he creaked, nearing a full-on sob.

She visually tensed up. "My... You _WHAT?!_" she seethed hatefully. Star looked at her with betrayal; perhaps it didn't understand the idea of her getting angry.

"I didn't mean to, Paint! I'm sorry! We were just talking about your dad, and I... I... uh... Paint?" Something was up.

"Hah! Just kidding, Arrow; I don't care." A good-natured grin reinforced this to the still-timid Arrowhead, and she explained: "They were bound to find out someday; in fact, I'm surprised no one told them before. Well" - and she threw her hands up submissively - "it's true! I'm half-Metarex. But I'm a good one - 'least I think so - just like Star's a good Eggman robot!" She patted her robot companion with familiar affection, and it reciprocated cutely.

"I think it's cool," Maxwell admitted, impressed. "Destruction has a home in the Paint bloodline! But yeah, I know you're no _real_ Metarex, and nothing either of you geezers could ribbit or bark at me could convince me otherwise. In short, Paint, I continue to be powerfully unafraid of anything about you but your rank fox breath."

"Yeah," Jewel chimed in, "my mom's told me that thousands of years ago, a race of hyenas brutally took over all of the surrounding peoples! And you know me: I'm just Jewel! I _couldn't_ hurt a fly! Least of all this one." He leaned timidly yet with true friendship on Maxwell's shoulder.

"You got that right," Maxwell chuckled.

"So, Arrow, this fearsome Metarex sleiveen wants you to come with her to make peace with the locals before you all depart together! Care to join her for this dance?"

He hopped up excitedly. "Sure! I would love to. Oh, but... have you seen my dad? I haven't, although nearly everyone else in town has walked by here at some point. This just isn't like him..."

"Oh, I was supposed to ask about that!" she exclaimed. "No, I haven't, and neither has your mom. It's really odd; I'd have picked him to be one of the first ones here..."

"Think he tramped off to find a lilypad or something? Hey, ya never know," Maxwell suggested.

"Max, I don't think that's nece-" Jewel started.

Paint suavely interrupted him: "Wait, I think he's onto something. Perhaps not a literal lilypad - I think he'd much prefer a comfy beanbag chair, of which he has one - but _something_. He could be on the prowl for something."

"Hmm. Maybe love is involved somehow. My mom always says: only love will make him get off his butt and be active. That's why he goes places with me... Anyway, Paint, got any predictions?"

"Why're you asking her?" Maxwell challenged. "She's from Mobius just like you, not some magical planet where the people understand all about 'love' and 'predicting' things."

"Well," Paint reasoned out loud, "since he doesn't appear to be anywhere in the village, it behooves us to check the forest. Let's do it!" She scampered into action for most of a second before groaning at the remembrance of just how much forest there was around Sunny Clearing. "Unnnnnnnnnnh... That's no easy task. How are we gonna scour the whole woods in time?"

Maxwell stood up proudly and brushed the tiny specks of dust from his wings, which were majestic despite carrying no evolutionary relationship to birds'. "_We_ won't. Dorks, follow me while I do all the scouring we need!" Triumphantly, he began to flap and - hesitantly but surely - rocketed up into the air. "C'mon; come with me!" And he buzzed off above the thicket, only as low to the ground as he would need to be for the two parties to hear each other.

Impatiently, Arrowhead yelled up, "See him anywhere?"

"Yep, I've found your dad already. Good thing we picked the right direction right away and he's wandered less than half a mile away. _No_, I don't see him!"

Miffed and quiet, the younger toad continued to do his part scanning the forest floor for signs of adult male toad. Paint, Jewel, and Star searched silently with him.

"Yo, 'Row!" Maxwell called down between eye-sweeps of the endless log-land.

"What?" He found it hard to be optimistic.

"Look, what I said wasn't necessary. But seriously, I have no clue where your dad is and I want him to be around to see us off just as much as you do."

"Th-thanks, Max..."

The four groundlings and one firefly continued to flit around the forest, spiraling out from the village to cover as much area as possible, giving preference to that nearest the village, in as little time as possible.

While passively searching and calling out on occasion, Paint lapsed into daydreaming: she imagined Arrowhead's father ensnared by Dr. Eggman, set to languish indefinitely as bait, collateral, hostage material for rescuers who might never come. It wasn't in any way a pleasant thought, and yet Paint had less energy than ever to keep looking, not helped in the least by there being little light out.

However, urgency reigned thus: the evening was shedding its colorful skin for the mum obsidian of nighttime. Maxwell lit his tail up - a showy lime-green it was - and buzzed aimlessly through the air before descending in disappointment to his friends.

"I haven't seen him a bit," he reported. "I'm sorry, Arrow, but I really think we ought to head back into town without him; the festivities are really starting now. They even have a giant bonfire going in the center of the place. And it's all dependent on us." Maxwell really was sad.

Star joined him with a dry, dejected whir.

"I just don't understand," Arrowhead sighed. "Why wouldn't he be here?"

"First off, _we_ aren't 'here'," Maxwell corrected. "But I concur with Paint in that I wouldn't be surprised if he was looking for something. That said, we can't spend all night looking for _him_."

"You're right; let's go." Arrowhead was not happy; betrayal shone with enveloping darkness on him to make the sky bright.

But this was worth no more of his time, he decided. "Hey, guys," he continued, "are you excited for all of this? Sounds quite overwhelming to me..."

"Absolutely!" Paint squealed. "I can handle the crowds for you, heheh, beating them away from you as necessary. And there are lots of people I want to depart from on happy notes."

"Even my mom?" Jewel muttered meekly.

"Of course! No one can lock this maiden's passionate heart up, no matter the thickness of the bars or of the conception of the justice system! I still like her, anyhow. Star, are you with me on this?"

Star whistled cheerily.

Almost as quickly and with as much emotional jarring as it had started, the friends' journey back to Sunny Clearing ended. Indeed, they were approached by a welcoming crowd. Villagers of all ages, species, and temperaments had shown up to receive them for a final goodbye.

As the biggest reward of all, Arrowhead's mother and father were both right in front, smiling yet agitated. "Come on," the male parent urged his son and his playmates, "we thought you'd never get back! ...Hey, why are you all looking at me like that?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's note: Sorry again, everyone. I wanted to finish this last night, but I was just _way_ too tired. Perhaps I could've pumped it out somehow, but not at any meaningful quality. I hope this is better.**

"Well, if you were out 'looking for' something, why can't you share it with us?" Maxwell challenged. "I don't buy that for a second. I think you just sent us out so you could be 'alone' with the missus."

"No, I swear I was! But I really think it'd be best to wait until everything's done..." Arrowhead's father strained against the twin pulls of wanting them to believe he had been telling the truth and wanting this occasion to wait.

"Whatever; I guess we can see then," Maxwell scoffed. "If it turns out you were fibbing... well, I guess it's a good thing for last impressions to be correct ones."

The toad grimaced, but his son reached up, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "I believe you, Dad. And I can wait."

"Thanks, son. A-anyway, everyone's waiting for you five little ragamuffins, so come on!" He and his wife were eager to get it all started, and they could do nothing but follow and see.

When the guests of honor had taken their seats, Amethyst stepped up to her podium, which had been dragged out, once more, to mark the beginning of the end of the tumultuous union.

Speaking softly at first, but quickly returning to effective use of her ability to project, she leaped into a stately speech: "People of Sunny Clearing, it is with predictable - yet nonetheless difficult - sorrow that I confirm the upcoming departure of five of the village's valued residents:" - she motioned to the friends' place in the audience - "Paint the Seedrian-Fox, Arrowhead the Toad, Model E-1030 'Star', Jewel the Hyena, and Maxwell the Firefly. All five are still our children - and I include Star in this count as it is estimated to have been manufactured in the past few years and still appears to be in a state of youthful wonder - yet we must already bid them goodbye.

"I remember closely the day Paint entered our lives. I was a nervous, misunderstood teenager myself, ready to embrace any shake-ups to our stationary lifestyle. On a trip into the forest, foraging with a few others, Morris the Iguana, who is with us tonight" - the second shout-out of the night was given him - "had found a helpless infant on a perfect little hill. As was the responsible thing to do, he showed her to the others and brought her back to town. He knew nothing of what she would become, but felt compelled to protect her all the same. I too was taken in by the boundless energy she demonstrated right away. As she grew up into what we see before us today, we were not unanimously thrilled with all of her exploits, myself included... Paint, you still owe me a new violin, and I'm counting on that!" - Paint surrendered some nervous laughter - "but I never truly hated her, even in knowing that her late mother's side of the family tied her to... you know. That said, I think it is regrettable, though in a way understandable, that we did not show her more forgiveness. And so it is that now that we have finally ourselves grown up enough to formally absolve Paint of our shunning of her, she has to leave to find her father! I am sad, but I am happy. It is what she must do.

"As a young girl, I always admired the two lovebirds who would later rear the also-departing Arrowhead. To me, they were endless springs of all the knowledge I could want, and yet they were still a fairly young couple who were madly in love in a way that also appealed to me, though for perhaps the opposite reason. In fact, it was from Ms. the Toad herself that I borrowed the first seemingly impenetrable law textbook that inspired me to learn more. Arrowhead, however, has grown up submerged in their environment of inquisitiveness and devotion to one's studies that is uncommon to find nowadays; I expect that he will turn out far to be beyond what I have as a result. Life and reading in Sunny Clearing, however, can only flesh out one's young intellect so much, so I accept that he too has to leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"Star I must admit that I was nothing but cold to when we first 'met'. It is a shame that I was afforded no better opportunity to get to know the robot - not that I would have taken it, knowing what I did then. It was a product of Dr. Eggman and, giving me almost as much prejudice, had been dragged home by Paint. How wrong I was - ah, I'd venture, _we_ were. Since I am speaking here as an animal just like you all, not as a judge, I willfully interject emotion into my hope that Star be well and continue to prove the old us wrong while developing its bonds with its four best friends. And so it must leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what it must do.

"Now, while it was Arrowhead's mother at whose hands the seed of judging was first planted on my hill of ambition, Jewel's showed me the ropes as only a true professional could. After only a brief stint as a police officer, the gods blessed me with the chance to be promoted to judge. After stepping down from office, Carol's father appointed me. I don't know whether she herself had had her eye on the position, but she was nothing but supportive. Now, as strong a figure as she was to me, Jewel has voiced no ambitions for a law job. I do not at all resent the boy for that, but I recognize that he will be better off finding his true inner strength with his best friends than he ever could here without them, so I acknowledge that he too must leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"Finally, Maxwell... I must admit that I am not well acquainted with his parents. I am sure you all understand that they so rarely participate in village activities; I do not see either of them among you. I am sure they have some good reason. R-regardless, I knew when I first saw little Maxwell learning to get off the ground with his tiny wings and illuminate with his tiny tail that he is an independent and, um, strong-willed boy. I accept that since the other four will need someone to protect and stand up for them, he must also leave. I am sad, but I am happy. It is what he must do.

"I know this is an emotional time for all of us, too, so what must we do? Well, I encourage you all to say the most thorough goodbyes you can. I'm sure these wonderful children will appreciate the attention. Thank you and... oh, uh, let the festivities begin." Applause followed for her and the absconding children. Quietly and ducking her head, she pitter-pattered away from her podium and into the mass of the chaotic. bubbling crowd. People were buzzing about every which way.

Many of them seemed interested in speaking with the children as soon as they could, but Paint, surveying her friends for approval, realized that Maxwell was not there, but by himself behind someone's hut. "Excuse me, guys; I'll be right back," she muttered, hinting a desire for her other friends to hold the crowd off while she found out what was the matter.

Doing her part, she walked quietly over. "Max, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Toward her discomfort, tears spotted his face. "It's not fair!" he sobbed. "I told my mom and dad I wanted them to come tonight to say goodbye, and... well, they didn't confirm it outright, but they nodded and said, 'Sure', which is the most they _ever_ do - when they're around anyway! I can't expect anything reasonable from those clowns! Amethyst was wrong; they have no 'good reason'! They _never_ have any!" He really was serious, vulnerable to a heart-wrenching degree.

"It's okay, Max; I'm sure they're just-"

"No, they're just on their pills again! They can't tell their own rear ends from the moon! I tried to hide those cursed things for tonight, but no dice! Just like always, they found a way to skip out on me!" That was all he was able to manage; he sunk his entire face into his segmented arms and continued to drain his small lake with his two pitiful waterfalls.

Paint knelt down and hugged him and, uncharacteristically, he made no move to resist but kept on sniveling. Forced to watch her tough, assertive friend reduced to something like this, she fizzled into the boiling, silent anger that was all too familiar in recent days. She grabbed his hand and, after a bit of resistance, got him to stand up.

"Wh-what do you want?" he stammered, not yet ready to set his misery aside.

"I'm glad we're getting you away from them," she growled hatefully, "but first, they're darn well going to know you're leaving them. And if they don't want to exert the basic decency to show up and say goodbye to their son, well then we'll just have to do it ourselves. Come on, Max." She pulled the aggrieved insect behind her and stomped off toward his house. The other villagers would just have to wait.


	35. Chapter 35

The windows were all shut, but the door was unlocked, so Paint thrust it open. Arrowhead's mother would have burst a blood vessel at the languor of the place; even Morris would likely have been uncomfortable. There were no storage units to speak of, and the few rickety shelves that remained were mostly unused. Old, torn magazines featuring punk rock bands, avant-garde artists, and actors from across Mobius speckled the floor, as did empty soda cans, peanut shells, fossilized sticks of gum, and sinister pill bottles in various states of fullness, plus a broken syringe. It was a sad place to be; the understanding jumped inside Paint that this was why Maxwell never wanted to be at home.

It seemed that her search for the two adult fireflies - for whom the first half of this description only held through technicality - had been in vain. At least it seemed that way until her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the interior. They were both unconscious, Maxwell's mother lying on her belly with one leg resting on a stool and his father lying face-down on a ratty couch. Both were breathing but looked to be in no shape for socializing.

"Wake up!" Paint hissed directly at an area that was mentally gerrymandered to include both of them and all of their useless, destructive paraphernalia in between.

"N-no... I'm... I'm not ready to go yet..." Maxwell's mother whispered to an unseen adversary. "J-just give me a few days to mow the lawns and get everything spiffed to perfection... H-haha; joke's on him. I'm not about to die with all this unfinished busi- zzzzzzzzz." She was stirring, in the loosest sense of the word. They both were: a suitable minimum for what needed to be done.

While Maxwell stood in vicarious shame in the doorway, Paint marched up and shook each of them violently. She would not hurt them - ideally - but neither would she let them check out cognitively.

"This is Paint, Paint the Seedrian-Fox! You're not going to die, but you _are_ going to listen, and you're going to do it right now!"

"Pai... Paint...?" groaned Maxwell's father. A faint beacon of recognition shone through his impairment. "Shouldn't you be doing... uh... um... plant stuff?" His wife chuckled before fading out of concentration again.

"This is too important for 'plant stuff'!" she yelled. "Are you aware that your son is leaving the village tomorrow?! For good?!"

"M-my son... He is...?" groaned his mother. "O-oh, that's... that's great! He's finally taking it upon himself to seek his fortune. I'm sure he'll make a great... janitor or something. Tell him to send us some tacos sometime, or whatever he gets enough money to afford... haha... zzzzz..." She playfully flickered her goldenrod tail for a few seconds.

_This_ was what he had been living with? "No, he's leaving because Arrowhead, Jewel, Star, and I are going, too! We're there for him because _you_ never _are_!" She trembled as she condemned, unaccustomed to such vitriol rushing between her own teeth.

"S-Star...? I-is that another one of those boys he peeps at? Such a good boy, that Star... zzzzzz..." She wasn't getting it.

So Paint tried again. "There's a festival tonight where everyone but you is bidding us farewell! If you don't want to come, go ahead and continue to drown in your stupor, but don't expect to _ever_ see your son _again_!" It was beginning to make Paint's head physically sore to have been so enraged for so long.

However, it seemed that she had begun to crack their shells. "Ma-Max?" his mother whimpered. She was trying to angle her head to see him, but could not muster the muscle power or visual-spatial wherewithal. "Max, you... you aren't going to leave us just like that, a-are you? We love you." His father attempted pitifully to wriggle from his nest with comparable helplessness.

Seeing a hopeful morning light flood into their cave, Paint beckoned Maxwell to come quickly with her finger, and they helped each of his parents stand up. The two older elateriforms swayed precipitously in place, but only from the drugs' lingering effects on things like balance rather than actual apathy toward their son.

"Max, honey, why didn't you tell us...?" It was all his mother could do to form a coherent sentence that sounded like a genuine, convincing plea. "We... we want to know these things."

"I did tell you..." - he sniffed - "I tried to, anyway. But you were... you were like this."

"Were we? Oh... oh..." Losing his footing and tumbling onto the floor in a wretched position, his father broke into tears at realizing how much of his son they were missing. He was unable to even look the boy in the eye; he was too ashamed at what he and his wife had crumbled into. Paint instantly lost the ability to stay angered, but she did want to stay put.

"Why do you use these things?" she inquired gently.

"Oh... why _don't_ we?" Maxwell's mother moaned. "Depression... boredom... physical illness... simple habit... It's all nonsense, all of it, just nonsense." She joined her husband in complete emotional disrepair.

"M-Max?" her husband squeaked, showing nothing but vulnerability along with his ongoing dizziness, disorientation, and apparent nausea. Paint felt terrible just watching.

"What is it, Dad?" He had thought he would want nothing more than to finally be addressed by one of his parents for more than a coarse yell. How wrong he had been.

"Go."

"H-huh?"

"Go with Paint, Max. Take your journey and... and don't look back. We aren't _real_ parents. We never have been. And we're not getting any better. She can protect you and be there for you infinitely more than we can, and you can do the same for her. Those other kids, too... You're a good boy, Max; don't waste that with wrecks like us." He looked exhausted to have spat all of that out.

"But Dad, I just..."

Maxwell's mother followed: "Please, Max. I don't know everything about what's best for you, but I know we aren't it."


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's note: Sorry for breaking schedule again, everyone. I've been a little distracted lately with health concerns and my upcoming college semester, and even within this story I've been focused more on events in the far-distant future than on what's going on now. It's a constant struggle; thanks for sticking with me through it.**

"Are you sure, Max?" Paint consoled softly. "We don't have to stay. We can go off by ourselves or just head off to bed or something, if you want."

"No, I'm fine," he said. His eye canals were not yet totally dry, nor had their source been quelled, but he would be okay to socialize. The night sky was empty, but everything below was inviting and lively.

"Alright, cool! Aaaaaanyway" - she slid slickly back into the conversation - "sorry about that, Lowell. So, I think you're unfairly diminishing the importance of lifelike fallibility. If our brains are really all in vats somewhere, how is the simulation that convinces us otherwise so flawless?"

"I counter thus, Paint," the shrew calmly replied, "we are having this conversation, are we not? We are questioning the hypothetical mastermind's setup, so it is not flawless. That such a mastermind may err does not preclude him or her from taking on such a job and successfully creating our consciousness."

"Surely they'd keep the reasoning that it might all not be real away from us, though, right?"

"It is possible to make some mistakes and not others, correct? We mortals make logical and observational blunders - including yourself, I daresay - and it is entirely within reason that a hypothetical brain-manager might create a simulation that escapes our discernment, while also committing errors of his or her own, one such error being to give us any reasoning ability at all." He sniffed vainly at the air.

"But it's - Hey, where did everyone go?" She pouted at having been left behind. "Ah, well, I guess this stuff isn't for everyone. Nice seeing you, Lowell! Whenever we eventually make it back here, you can tell me all about how hopelessly stupid the Macro-Marsupial proponents are. Y'know, we'll be giving you time to let your anger fester, haha."

"Hmph, indeed," he grunted dispassionately as Paint began to depart for her young friends. "I swear, those fanatics and their precious lateral fricatives..."

They hadn't gotten far; they were speaking with Carol and her husband. Paint jumped right in, eager to cement good rapport with the officer and Jewel's lesser-seen parent.

"So, you've finally jumped off your ivory tower, eh?" Maxwell chided.

Paint was too glad he was back to his old self to mind the mild insult. "Yup! The propeller-flying genes were not in the hand I was dealt, so it was a fast trip! No time for a graceful landing!" At least Star looked happy to see her, as usual.

Clearly straining against her rigid exterior to get this out and done with as soon as possible, Carol stated, "Paint, I want to speak with you tonight as a fellow villager and a friend, but I am not going to apologize for doing my job yesterday or two days ago. You were, at the time, an accused criminal."

"Moooommm..." groaned Jewel.

"That's fine!" Paint reassured to her. "I'm not asking you to. Hey, work is work, right?"

"Doesn't she know it..." Jewel's father chuckled.

"That's enough. I suppose so. Listen, all of you... Not all of Dr. Eggman's robots will be like Star, understand?" Carol wanted to be firm about this.

Star protested with a timid but assertive beep. With much fluidity, it raised its arm to point at its own torso, then waved it vaguely across the canopy of the woods to represent the wider world before placing it back on its own heart, but more tenderly and for longer this time.

"I don't understand it, Paint," the officer snapped. "What is it saying?"

"Star thinks all of Eggman's robots are good at heart," she chimed, "no worse of beings than Star. Oh, Star" - she grabbed its shoulder tightly and friskily, as though pinching its cheek - "you are such a sweetheart! I hope you're right."

"I don't know about that..." Arrowhead admitted. "Have you already forgotten your so-called 'friends' from this morning?"

"Yeah, being idealistic is fine, but..." Jewel muttered.

Star had an answer ready: it waved its hands around in rapid, unpredictable, and lawless patterns. Having communicated this, it picked up a common stone from the ground - Arrowhead moved out of the way to excuse the robot to retrieve it - and pointed at the moon.

"You've lost me there, pal..." was all Paint could conclude.

Pressing on, Star pointed at the torches illuminating the nearby snack table and then at Maxwell's unlit tail.

"Ohhhhh, 'light'! It's... uh... shiny stones or minerals! Precious ones!"

Star confirmed excitedly, urging her to continue.

"Diamonds!" Negative. "Jewels! ...No, then you'd just have pointed at our aptly-named buddy here. Gold!" Negative again. "Silver!" Star gave a strong negative; it appeared to associate that word with something else. "Emeralds!" That was the key. "Um... oh! Chaos Emeralds!"

Star cheered and waited for Paint to give her analysis for the rest.

And she did. "They were just doing their job like Eggman told them to, looking for the Chaos Emeralds. Work is work, eh? I suppose I can't blame them for that, although, you know, the grievous violence I disapprove of..."

"Chaos Emeralds, huh? I've... heard of them. What do those doodads do, anyway?" was Carol's husband's logical follow-up question.

Paint realized that she didn't know; none of them did but the robot, who might have seen their use firsthand. Indeed, Star had an answer to this, too. Thinking of a way to model it, however, gave Star what looked like quite a headache. Its friends were patient through what turned out to be a tediously long display of various animal traits such that Arrowhead was able to narrow the animal in question down to a hedgehog.

"'Sonic' the Hedgehog? I remember that name. You'd know him via Dr. Eggman, I suppose," Arrowhead recalled.

Star confirmed this name and, to complete the explanation, mimed an exotic, passionate transformation and a display of exorbitant physical strength.

"Sisu and beautiful gemstones make for ultimate power, huh? How romantic," Paint sang.

Jewel's father interjected, "Definitely makes sense why Dr. Eggman would want those things away from the little bugger. All the same, Star, I wonder why you aren't seeking them as well."

"Wouldn't that go in violation of Dr. Eggman's orders?" his wife challenged to the robot.

Star did not need to speak up; Paint defended it with her tried-and-true relation of how helpless Star had been and how it had abandoned its ways long ago, this being cemented when she had saved its life - not that Star did not deserve this, of course; that is what friends do. Still, the explanation was beginning to wear on her. The adorable tale of Star joining the side of friendship and rebellion against tyrannical terrorists was beginning to sound trite and outlandish. Perhaps, though, it did not need to be anything more. Its veracity for all of them was enough.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's note: At four days (July 24 - 28), this is now the longest interval between _Don't Keep Your Distance_ chapters so far. I've learned a hard lesson: I don't enjoy writing extended dialogue scenes, nor does at least one vocal follower enjoy reading them. It's especially drudging with depression and real-life arguments such as I've had over the past few days. As a result, this chapter and the next one may seem a bit rushed, but I feel that's better than dragging it on further, in the interest of the story picking back up before I lose motivation to write altogether. Thanks for being understanding.**

"Hey, Star, where do ya think _you're_ going?" cried an authoritative little voice. Star heard its name and turned around in confusion, then shrunk back a little.

It took Paint a couple of seconds to recognize the two children, but only that. She was vaguely glad to see them, but only that.

"Star, you promised you'd come back and play with us yesterday!" the female panda cub, whom the voice had belonged to, protested. Her brother held their old ball expectantly, bouncing it over and over, only a couple of inches up, in his hands. He looked like a hungry child who had been denied dinner and was only now receiving it.

Star hung its head at them, then at Paint as it whistled apologetically with an upward intonation.

"Of course you can play with them!" she assured. "Tonight's about tying up loose ends, and if yours involve ball-playing, I'm not about to cut the tetherball from its leash." After a quick burst of gratitude, the three athletes took off together gleefully.

The night continued in predictable fashion, punctuated by the occasional trip to the snack table amidst the routine socialization. Finally, as their last patron of the night, the all-important judge showed up.

"Hello, you all," Amethyst greeted pleasantly.

"_There_ you are! I was wondering when, at long last, we'd finally get to you. Here, I'll show you 'what I must do'." Paint hugged the official tightly, causing her cheeks to turn... an identical, but more contextually justified shade of red.

"Yes, I like you, too, Paint."

"So what are you gonna do without _her_ around to provide can't-miss courtroom drama?" Maxwell chided.

"Well, that never occupied _too_ much of my time, so I suppose I will be continuing with my other administrative jobs, none of them major either," Amethyst admitted. "As for my remaining time... well, I can't really be sure. Arrowhead, your parents may not show it now, but they will be very empty without you."

He looked at his feet apologetically. "Yeah, I know..."

"But maybe I will try to rekindle my relationship with them."

This brightened him up; he was happy for them. "Hey, yeah! You can learn as much about exotic fungi as we know! ...Well, maybe a basic grounding in this amount of time, but something..."

She smiled and nodded. "Something like that. This place as a whole will be emptier without you fi- Hmm, where's Star gone off to?"

"Star's just enjoying itself and playing with the panda twins..." Jewel muttered wistfully. "Aww, I just wish _I _could just set all of my doubts aside and be happy in the moment like that."

"Oh, I think Star's worried, too; now just isn't the time for it to show it," Paint soothed. "Star's one big tangle of nerves, but momentary fun takes precedence."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Maxwell grumbled. "Despite its rough exterior, courage escapes this little one. Much to learn, much to learn..."

Amethyst quietly asserted, "Star won't abandon you; it will still protect you when you need it. I'm sure of it."

A curious whistle wisped its way into the conversation. Star had heard its name.

"Hi! Are you done with those kids?" Paint asked.

The robot closed its eyes to mimic slumber, then set one hand a few feet above the ground and mimed walking. While helpful in the abstract, it turned out an unnecessary gesture: Paint swiveled her head around to see a larger panda carrying his two sleeping children off, one on each shoulder.

"Star, I don't mean to pick favorites, but I wonder if we will not miss you the most. Of course you have your own calling with your friends, but it has been nice having a kind of protector around. I think the danger is about gone, but you have still provided us a sense of security that will be difficult to replicate with animals alone."

Star cooed softly in sadness, but Paint stepped up to bat: "It's not so bad. Maybe you can adopt the fearlessness that I know this little one has, even if it doesn't always want to show it. Not that you'll need it in a placid locale like this, anyway. And besides - as you said, Star's protecting us! Hehe."

Amethyst yawned and concurred, "Yes, I am glad. But I'm afraid I can't 'protect' you all with my presence any longer. I do not believe I am alone, either..." And she was right; Paint hadn't even noticed, but the only locals who were still around were packing up.

"Alright, good night," Paint responded. "You've gotta be awake for your... uh, ruling, haha." Amethyst had been running on spare energy; she slumped off with very little of it. Paint herself was growing sleepy - the bonfire was long reduced to embers, and only a few torches remained against the enveloping night sky.

Nonetheless, it was too bad that the folk of Sunny Clearing were not ones for partying wildly, least of all when the sky was this far from being either sunny or clear. And so the dispersal of the locals for the last time left Paint unsatisfied. She had focused so hard on fulfilling the concrete task of a mental spreadsheet of farewells that she was not left with much when all boxes were checked.

There was, however, one more lingering thread for the night, and she was not even the animal who vainly swung her needle the hardest to catch it. Arrowhead's father was, with his wife, slowly heading back home and leaving his son and his friends to make it back whenever they chose. When Arrowhead protested, though, his father met him with a knowing, even mischievous smile.

"Alright, Dad, _now_ is it time?"

"...Time for what?" He knew.

"You know..."

"What do I know? I know lots of things. I'm an educated man."

Maxwell interjected, "Whatever you wanted to show us, wart-hog! Or was I right that you don't have anything? I don't want to be right."

"Oh! That. How silly of me; I must have forgotten," he comically equivocated. "Here they are." He opened the sack and pulled the artifacts out.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's note: The Sunny Clearing talk-a-thon saga is wrapping up very soon! It finally is! Sorry, I meant to post this sometime yesterday, preferably in the afternoon, but I ended up being busy all day yesterday with various meetings and, today, with some errands. But hey, this chapter's educational! Kinda. Please don't hate me.**

"You mean _this_ is what we were waiting for?" Maxwell asked, cringing in incomprehension.

"Well, I-" Arrowhead's father began to defend.

"Sheesh, if you wanted to make us a salad, why not just shear Paint?" His eyes probed the uncomfortable adult toad in mild contempt.

"I think they're pretty," Jewel conceded softly.

Star whirred in interest.

"Yeah, I guess, but mushrooms? I just don't get it. We already _have_ snacks, and even if we didn't, there's plenty out there we can find and digest - well, me anyway. Dunno about you niche-dwellers."

"Hah, these are dried-out - this way they won't decay," Arrowhead's father explained. "I was out gathering them and preparing them earlier on - really, it's remarkable I did that as fast as I did. I want you to take them as, you know, symbols of our affection for you all. Something like that."

"That's what took you so long? Whatever..." Maxwell had not yet surrendered interest.

"Max? Here's yours," Arrowhead's father offered.

"Oh, this should be just joyous." Insect eye-rolling was especially loathsome, Paint thought - had he intended that?

"_Inocybe calamistrata_," the toad elaborated. "See - it's got a green base and a rugged, almost scaly body, just like you! It's a nifty little addition; smell it? It has an odd odor."

"I'll show you 'odd od-' Hey, it _is _kinda neat." He examined his token proudly.

"Alright, and here you go, Paint: _Coprinus silvaticus_. Self-explanatory - it's both hairy and smooth. It's kinda deceptive in that way. Despite its strange, kinda alien appearance, it's a quaint little thing and doesn't have any odor to speak of."_  
_

"Thank you! I love it already! Oh, I'll feed it and take care of it!" She too looked over her gift fondly.

"Wait, mine has an odor but _Paint's_ doesn't?" Maxwell complained. "Man, that's rank. Paint smells like a garbage can, especially compared to me."

"Oh, no she doesn't," Arrowhead's father scoffed in defense. "O-or not at first glance! Maybe that's just another way she's 'deceptive'! Ooooooh!"

He received only blank looks for that, so he went on, a bit embarrassed.

"I suppose I can't forget my own son, haha. Here, Arrow! ...You can identify this one, right?"

"Hmm... _Suillus... glandulosipes_?" he guessed.

"Close! It's _albivelatus_." Down to the genus wasn't bad.

"Oh. B-but that's-"

"That's right! They're densely constructed - like you are with facts, heheh, and while it can be hard to pick them out, what with their wart-like 'scales', they're plenty distinctive once you do."

"Oh! Heheh." Well, _that_ wasn't so bad.

"Do I have one, sir?" Jewel put forth.

"Of course! Here's yours: _Boletus pseudosensibilis_. Despite the generally large, tough nature of its golden-brown stem, it's pleasant, mild in both odor and taste."

"Yup, that's him all right," Maxwell muttered disinterestedly, eyes half-lidded in what came across as stereotypied apathy.

"I hoped so!" the older toad barked. "Oh, but you don't have to call me 'sir', Jewel. I mean..."

"Uh... what _do_ I call you, then...?" went Jewel under his breath.

Arrowhead's father - and so it was - hadn't heard. "Huh. I seem to have one- Oh! Star, this is for you!"

Star excitedly stuck its hand out to receive its gift, then took a closer look. Paint saw its lenses contract to see the mushroom at different magnifications, one after the other. The robot was engrossed.

"_Gyroporus castaneus_. It's got a ruddy hue similar to yours. It has a tough-looking exterior but it's fragile inside - which is not a bad thing! The taste is pleasant, and they're communal and friendly by nature, though they can easily survive alone."

Star whistled distractedly, picking at its present. The others began to watch curiously as the robot enjoyed itself, until it realized it was being watched and sheepishly returned to normal.

"Star, are you done?" Paint asked. "It's okay if you're not; I just want to know if I can put these away."

Star whimpered at the thought of losing its new mushroom avatar this soon.

"It's okay! It'll just be in my bag, with the rest of them. You can see it whenever you want. In fact, this way it'll be easy to hang onto them 'cause they'll all be in one location."

Well, that was better, so Star gladly handed it over. Validation of one's qualities conveyed through another's generosity was sure to feel great, Paint supposed. And then it hit her: Star had never received much of that, certainly not from Dr. Eggman or his subordinates. Star had been able to show them nothing from its own life but painful memories and silly caricatures - things like this were important to it.

By then, the tokens had all been distributed, but something was off. "Max, I think you've been kinda quiet, huh?" asked Jewel to his mum mentor.

"Huh? Oh... yeah, I have." - He yawned and distractedly returned some attention to the conversation at hand - "Listen, Toad-School, I do appreciate you being this considerate to us, what with these little... baubles. But I think I'm ready to be done here. The night calls; my tail ain't gonna stay up forever."

"That's fine; you've all held out longer than most. S-sorry keeping you all like this."

"Oh, no, thank you! But I think I also... uh..." Jewel's chime-in yawn, which followed, sealed the deal.

The setup for their last night in town was simple and pragmatic: the toad family's giant blanket covered the four young animals while Star lay next to them. All was serene and silent, save for chests waxing and waning. Arrowhead's parents were in their familiar chairs. Everything was where it belonged on that thickly cloudy estival night, except possibly Maxwell, who seemed a little restless in his rest.

Paint was not sure whether he was yet asleep, but Maxwell rolled over a bit to her, after which his breathing felt somehow more peaceful. She stretched out an invisible smile and put one arm around him before closing her eyes, too.


	39. Chapter 39

Dollops of snow mingled mighty merrily, forming fickle friendships as they darted diagonally downward. Proud pines stood stoically and amicably around, covered by the canvas of powdery precipitation. Three things were positively present: a couple of companions and a heaping helping of a nascent, near-diaphanous, delicate dessert.

The beautiful midday sun served as a gregarious distraction to the frigid weather. Yet, as Paint and Starla knelt before the giant platter and enjoyed their ice cream in each other's toasty comfort, the cold was a nuisance to notice.

"OH! I get it, I get it!" Paint gasped. "If the Euclidean Parallel Postulate is relaxed in the hyperbolic direction, _of course_ there can only be three right angles there - a fourth would invalidate the foundations of hyperbolic geometry! So it can only be a Saccheri quadrilateral!"

"Exactly!" Starla scratched her messy scarlet hair as an unwanted distraction from their conversation. "I never understood the point of that distinction before I realized that."

Paint paused to take another giant bite of their vaguely brownish, mud-colored ice cream. There were small, tough imperfections in it, but she enjoyed it no less for them. She shivered as the freezing wave rooted through her brain, but was in no mood to give up. She reverted her gaze to her buddy's face across the table and said, "Y'know, Starla, I'm glad we've been able to catch up again. I've really been missing you."

"Me, too!" bounced the porcupine, true affection showing its face and waving in her eyes. "I just feel horrible that you haven't been able to find your dad yet."

Paint's ears de-perked as she remembered. "Yeah... Well, he's out there. I can't help feeling that he needs to be rescued from something, perhaps from something incorporeal. Well, Tails, your daughter loves you in advance and she's coming to find you!" She took another bite, a determined one, one that stood for something beyond its small measure of frosty sweetness.

Starla tried another bite, too, but grimaced as she tasted the corrupting wetness of the accumulating snow. "Hey, Paint, uh... this snow is kinda disconcerting - I can't enjoy our ice cream with this; can you?"

"Well, now that you mention it... But I- I mean, we have it. It's a rare treat for us, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know, Paint. I want to leave; this ice cream is only keeping us locked in place artificially. It's pulling us away from our task, in effect - who knows what's happening to Tails? Dr. Eggman could have him in captivity this very moment; I think it's wise that we leave as soon as possible."

"Aw, can I at least have a few more bites?" Paint pouted.

"Tsk. Sure..." Starla growled, focusing impatiently on an invisible wristwatch. Her tetchy attention took over, and she began to pull Paint away by her right arm. "Alright, that's enough, Paint. Let's go."

"But the ice cream wants me to stay with it! It... it's almost like it doesn't like you..." Paint was surprised to hear these surreal lamentations escape through her own teeth.

"Come now; the snow's making it useless anyway." Starla continued to wrestle Paint's protesting arm out of resistance; she had no choice but to be dragged along pitifully. "Look - there's practically a quinzee forming on that fallen dessert. I want none of it - and you want none of it."

"B-but... but I want it. Why does it have to be this way?" Paint cried. Nothing made any sense. Angry swirls of blue-white and pure-white engulfed the scene, in a smattering at first and then turning into a near-blizzard. The worst part: Paint was still hungry, and her arm was beginning to hurt.

She woke up with a start, having sweated up a derecho. Her arm was still sore, but this sensation began to leave her body as she sat up; she had been sleeping on the arm. It was early in the morning, and she was the only one awake in the house.

That certainly had been a fantastical, upsetting dream. Fortunately, her best friends were all right there, still fast asleep, to protect her from the notion that it was anything more real than that.

She turned both eyes to what she could see of the wider world. The sky was of a deep blue but was being illuminated steadily from the east as the day dawned. The trees, both deciduous and evergreen, were emphatically uncovered, vibrant in the friendly summer morning air.

She thought excitedly of waking Arrowhead up to tell him about her dream and get him ready for the day, but decided against it. Promptly, she decided against that, and she shook him gently.

"Arrow! Arrow! Wake up; it's morning!"

"Mmmmmmgmgmph... what?" He winched one bloodshot eye open and looked through the window, then complained, "But it's not even morning yet. Can I go back to sleep?"

"But I had a cool dream and I want to tell you about it!"

"Paint, please... please whisper..." It was true; she had been speaking loudly, though fortunately no one else had awoken in her wake. He followed his own advice vacuously, as he drifted readily and comfortably back into dreamland.

She was unsatisfied at first, but decided it hadn't been a reasonable demand. She looked sleepily and aimlessly back out through the window, kissed him on the cheek, and fell right back asleep.

This time it was dreamless and inconsequential, and when she was awoken for real, it was the real morning. Arrowhead's parents stood proudly over their son and his adventure-mates, a crusty spatula in the father's hand.

"Rise and shine, Paint! Come on, everyone!" he encouraged. "...I can't believe _I _have to be the one to wake you dead logs up..." Quiet groans erupted from around the room as Paint's three male companions escaped their slumber, optimistic for the new day and adventure but wishing they could just wait a few more minutes before leaping headlong into it.

Dreams are weird.


	40. Chapter 40

"Wow, Morris, you sure have been putting away those latkes," Arrowhead's father marveled.

"Hey, you know me," Morris defended. "I'm gonna need all the energy I can manage for this adventure."

"But you're not coming with us..." Jewel corrected quietly. Star, sitting as politely as it could on the floor, whimpered quietly, only for Paint to pat it on the side and show it the locket - Morris would be with them spiritually. Star felt better after that.

"'Course not! But I _am_ seeing you off. I wouldn't miss that for the world, and I'll need energy to grieve. Awww, I can feel the sobs coming on as we speak. My heart is wracked with, er, the flagellations of my five little proteges heading off into the world to seek their fortunes."

"Pretty sure that's just cholesterol, tubs," said Maxwell. Morris weighed the options at hand and chose a piece of fresh fruit for his next hapless prey.

Arrowhead's mother spoke up. "Oh, Maxwell! I'd almost forgotten. In the ruckus of locating Arrow's jacket, the fact escaped me that he's not the only cold-blooded child among you. And so it happens that I've dug up one for you, too! Here, try it on. I think it's just precious." She grinned with conviction of justice as she thrust a sweater over the firefly's head and pulled it roughly over his shoulders while he twisted violently in rejection. Paint was worried her roughness would injure his wings, until she saw that two holes had been roughly cut out for them. Indeed, the covering was snug, warm, and decorated with tiny bells and a jovial beaver elf as these little critters were portrayed in Techokkan folktales.

Seeing what he was wearing, Maxwell grumbled in unrepentant disgust. Chuckles fizzled up from around the breakfast table, but Paint admitted, "I think it's cute! I'll wear it if you won't, Max."

"No, no, Paint," the mother toad explained. "His body isn't like yours; it does not conduct heat on its own. I'm sure he'll grow to live with it, as Morris has offhanded insults. And I agree - it _is_ cute! But it's for him." She was really enjoying this._  
_

Paint wanted a way out. "Haha! Not necessary. He can get all the warmth he needs from my hugs. Here, I'll give him a taste!" She embraced him genuinely lovingly, but also a little roughly and tightly for hint-hinting purposes.

More fervent and generous about wanting an escape, Morris suggested, "Hey, would it be useful to run through the checklist before they head out on their way?"

"Good idea!" remarked Arrowhead's father. "Kids, do you each have..." - he waited for them to ready their backpacks to check - "a toothbrush and toothpaste?"

They all confirmed, barring Star, who needed - and had - no pack. "Paint, are you taking the hint?" Maxwell ribbed, before amending rather stiffly, "...Because dental health is important for all of us."

"I sure am! I'm sure my fellow adventurers would tire of my natural fox breath after a lunar cycle or two, as much of a cultured, eclectic history of culinary escapades as it represents. Uh... what's next, Pop?"

"Sandals for scorching desert sands. As I recall, the map does demarcate some desertous lands" - he pulled it from under the table - "yeah, here they are. 'Sandopolis' - charming. So, have you got 'em?" he asked before remembering a pertinent biological detail of one of the boys. "Oh, well, Max, you can fly, so..."

"Not forever," Maxwell corrected. "But I do have a pair, so... so thanks, I guess."

"'Charming', indeed," Morris grunted with ambiguous intent to be heard.

"And even if you didn't - or if you lose them - I can carry you!" Paint cheerfully added.

"It's true; she can," said Arrowhead.

Without responding to them beyond an exaggerated eye roll, Maxwell commanded, "How about the next item?"

"Snacks, of course - at least enough for a week or so each; I think you can find your own sustenance at other times. Everyone got them?"

The four young animals said yes, and Morris piped up, "I wasn't gonna say anything!"

"I never said you were," replied Arrowhead's father calmly.

"...Touche."

"Okay, now for some individuals," the anuran parent continued. "Who has the tent?"

"Me!" Jewel cried, even proudly. "But I have to admit, I'm not sure it'll be needed that much..."

The iguana returned to prominence. "Oh, it will be. Techokko's climate is a greenhouse of naivete. Besides, you've gotta think ahead to the winter and such. Hopefully you'll find a civilized place to stay for a while before the elements begin to really, er, act up."

"True..."

Arrowhead's father regained the floor. "And on a more mild note, who's the umbrella person here?"

His son spoke up: "That's me. Fortunately, I believe it will be less necessary as time goes on, because of the timing of rain in the surrounding lands as far as I'm aware of them. It's visible in the plant life, Dad, remember?"

"Of course! I'm just making sure - you know, preparation. I know your packs aren't empty besides this junk; I just want to make sure the basics get covered, ahah." He sighed wistfully, presumably taking in for the last time that they really were about to leave their town behind after it had cared for them so much.

Paint wouldn't let him be too anguished over it. "Don't worry; I've got our individual mushrooms right here, right next to Morris' locket," she soothed, patting a lumpy area in her pack. "They're mementos of your caring, of course; I wouldn't leave them behind. And they're extensions of us! We wouldn't be complete leaving them here."

"Well, then!" he replied with chipper affirmation. "I reckon that about settles it. You five are all good to go. Arrow, Paint, Jewel, Max, and Star..." - the pause was painful - "I guess... I guess this is goodbye."

"That would be the thing to do at a prime hour of the morning such as this," his wife concurred, beginning to weep before wiping her eyes and hiding her face. Star silently walked over and hugged her, murmuring softly as she cried into its metal-plated arm. Like a magnet introduced to the disheveled office of a forgetful watchmaker, the scene attracted everyone else in the house to join in the embrace. Everyone wept at least a little - even Star, in its own known way - but perhaps most helpless and pitiable of all was Jewel: he could not look to Maxwell for guidance, even if rough and crude guidance; the firefly's antennae hung down sadly, like Paint's ears. She squeezed Jewel's hand to remind him she was there for him, but somehow even this did not seem to be enough.

While not departing from the embrace, Morris offered a few words of consolation. "You know, Amethyst was spot-on last night, and she elaborated more than I ever had. You each have something special to bring to the others and reason to be leaving. Tails was a great boy last I saw him, and you'll all enjoy his company. And, er, I was also right when we first spoke about him, Paint: I'd wager that the joy in his face when he sees you for the first time will make it all worth it."

"Th-thank you, Morris," she whispered, her tears reaching a crest of chaotic intensity all the same. They were really going to be gone: no Morris, no Arrowhead's parents, no Amethyst, not for a very long time. She looked silently inside her own shell of theatrical, adventurous confidence and wished she could fill it up.

"'I am sad, but I am happy,'" Morris summarized. "'It is what you must do.'"


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's note: I seem to be having a lot of fun coming up with little details of Mobian society that won't appear until _much_ later down the line; I** suppose that'll make the chapters in the far future that much more worth it.** Of course I also enjoy the here-and-now, though, once I get rolling and really cranking word volume out. *ceremoniously raises glass* To the adventurers!**

Paint found herself searching the recesses of her brain frantically for something to keep them just a little longer. To leave with her best friends and undo cruel happenstance to be reunited with her father was what she deeply and truly wanted, and yet the first step was the hardest.

No one else seemed to be taking it any easier. Paint had somehow expected the group hug to break like a sports huddle, but it had collapsed into unsatisfied jigsaw pieces anticlimactically and without passion. Oh, well.

Maxwell would be the first to shatter the ice that had frozen over the heart of the room. "So, uh... are we..."

"Yes. That's it," Arrowhead's mother forcefully asserted, as if trying to convince herself. "There is little use in you all staying further. My husband and I will need to get to our... chores for the day. We love you all dearly, but it's time to leave."

"Have you guys got a game plan?" her husband asked with considerably more cheer in his voice.

"Well, I..." Paint crossed her legs sheepishly. "Uh... isn't spontaneity an integral part of the spirit of adventure? Aheheh..."

Arrowhead, however, had a suggestion ready: "How about... uh... Angelic Falls? The place Amethyst mentioned."

"That's a bit out of the way..." said Morris. "You kids should more likely be heading northward out of Kattekara and then out of Techokko, since Namosstok is in the next province. But, er, head east first, because just north of here are... you know, volcanoes."

"East it is, then!" Paint cheered. "Star, we're all gonna see where we met you!" Star giggled in excitement.

"Oh! And there's something I was asked to bring this morning and almost forgot, but in my reliable sharpness managed to remember, now that it counts." Morris walked over to the knapsack he had brought to breakfast - it was a little journey of his own - and retrieved four well-loved safari hats.

"As I've said, you'll need these, ah, a little further down the road," he explained. "The sun may nourish you now, Paint, but it can be quite cruel, especially in those desertous lands on other continents, like Sandopolis."

"Good thing I'm not a frog..." Arrowhead muttered.

"And remember that you all have water bottles in there as well."

"Yup," confirmed Jewel, patting the cool lump in his pack dutifully.

"...So this really is it, then?" asked Arrowhead, looking at his feet with a sadness that seemed tired and resigned.

"Yes! Yes! Off you go. Remove your presences from our lives," his mother commanded. "We will cope just fine; we are plenty busy. You children, on the other hand, need to traverse as much ground as you can today." She began to push her son and his friends toward the door; they quickly made the movement their own and escaped the hut for the last time.

Arrowhead sighed, "...Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Her frazzledness saddened Paint and apparently her son as well, who took no comfort in his mother's few words. She was not used to dealing with situations like this; she only knew how to block feelings out.

"...I love you. I think you want to cry, and that's okay," he tried.

"Nonsense. I'm glad for you and your associates; experiences like this will do you all wonders - and I wish not to prolong them. Goodbye, Arrowhead." She waved him off decisively before stepping inside, leaving the door open as she sat down and distractedly picked up a book. These motions took all of five frantic seconds.

"A-alright... bye, Mom." He nodded to his friends, and they understood in unison. Arrowhead's father and Morris solemnly waved goodbye in her place.

The first few steps were supposed to be jolly, optimistic ones. These were more hollow and automatic, the five comrades propelled by a sense of duty that, in the moment, they all seemed to find it hard to connect to.

At this point, they were almost out of visual reach of Arrowhead's hut as they approached the forest's entrance. Paint took one last look back to close off this chapter of their lives, one last look at what they were leaving behind. Her eyes found one mother toad with no book, sobbing helplessly into her hands as her stag and the familiar iguana patted her on the back and mouthed things forever inaudible. Their words were doing nothing for her.

"Arrow...?" went Paint gently.

"Yeah?" He turned his whole head toward her for what he sensed would be important.

"When the time comes, make that phone call." She did not want to be consciously manipulative, but her eyes pleaded with him that it would be important to reassure his parents of his safety and reconnect to them to alleviate loneliness as soon as possible.

"Oh, you don't have to remind me." He understood it as well as she.

She nodded and they walked on, being enveloped headlong by the forbidding thicket. It would only serve to let everyone down if they took the most comfortable action of chickening out. This would have to work.

And it would have to wait: an incessant buzzing of wings cropped up - no, two. Maxwell looked up in cynical inquisition but was wowed at what he saw. His mother and father dropped down, landing a comfortable distance in front of him and making up the remainder by jumping over for a final hug. They were finally sober, and he loved that. Normally he would be tired of all of this recent hugging by now, but with them, there was nothing more cool than being hugged.

"Mom, Dad, you're..." he croaked.

"We don't want your lingering memory of us to be of us in our wrong minds," his mother asserted. "I'm not about to let you leave without this unfinished business."

Unacquainted with these arthropods, Jewel and Star looked at each other and shrugged.

"You should be doing firefly stuff," his father corroborated. "Light up your tail and be happy! You're built to soar, Max. We can't go with you - shouldn't - but we can ask that you stay optimistic for us."

"Fight the forces that keep you... tied to doors, wood or see-through. Cry for wars that exceed you; bite galore 'til you're free to."

"Honey, isn't that a Nation of Useless Mopes song? 'Cry for Wars'?" he suggested.

"That it is! You remember it!" She kissed him. "I miss those days, when we would sit outside at night, handing the old guitar back and forth and serenading each other - lit only by our own tails, until we extinguished those too and spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other. We've... we've missed out on so much." They were as a newfound pair in love once more. Paint thought it was adorable.

"Hey, quit it with the mushy stuff," their son instructed, giggling with joy in spite of himself.

"I don't think we will," his father cooed to both members of his family, "but Max, we can leave _you_ alone."

"You do that," he grunted dismissively.

"All right, then. We love you, we wish you well, and all that. Oh, and Max?"

"What is it, Dad?"

"Thank you."

His son mulled that over for a bit and simply replied, "You're welcome." That was weird.

The insects in love both rose into the air, angelic without falling. A few tears were visible on them, but manageable ones. "Bye, Max!" they called together as they flitted away, their tails flickering a pretty farewell against the morning canvas of atmosphere.

Once they were gone, presumably off to more... pressing tasks, he warmly stated to his friends, "Okay, _now_ we can skedaddle. Let's kick into gear, soldiers!" He began the massive march toward his former enemy reuniting with her father, and the rest followed his lead. He was purposeful.

A pleasant display of animal beauty, a comforting way to begin a new day and a new adventure, a symbolic display that leaving for a worthwhile cause can be an action of winsome determination - one can call it what one wishes. It had done its job: Maxwell was a happy bug.


	42. Chapter 42 - End of Part One

**Author's note: Wasn't sure I'd be able to get this done today, especially with FF-dot-net going down for a few hours, but here we are. Man, R.I.P. Robin Williams. I knew he'd been depressed in recent years, but not like this. Poor guy.**

With their last remaining social chains to Sunny Clearing being taken off for the time being, Paint the Seedrian-Fox, Arrowhead the Toad, Jewel the Hyena, Maxwell the Firefly, and E-1030 "Star" began to walk for real.

The familiar rocks were all there, with their iconic figures and imperfections. So too were the familiar trees, each of the giant beauties seeming to encourage the gang to find Paint's other active ingredient. Familiarity does not last long when one finally gets around by happenstance to breaking one's habit of sticking close to home, but it is a nice way to wade into the tumult of adventure, after which the adventure has the experiencer's permission to be safely exciting.

Conversation was not yet necessary; all five kids were plenty occupied by taking in the increasingly unfamiliar, always beautiful scenery and reflecting on the fact that, yes, this was real and they were doing it.

After a couple of hours, the welcoming hillside exhibited itself before them. The trees, bushes, and other plants were even more vibrant and liberally speckled with color than before - a friendly reminder that autumn was coming, if not already leaning through the door. Tiny spores and flower petals somersaulted around the animals' and robot's bodies, clamoring for playtime.

Paint saw knowing appreciation in Arrowhead's eyes for the memorable place, and Star too was serene and enjoying the sights. She concurred. However, Maxwell and Jewel were stricken headfirst with the wonder they had never known, as though unscrewing their very first cookie jars with hard-won parental approval.

Without wasting any time, the quintet walked, hopped, and dropped chaotically just as its two founding members had before. A short walk through the flattening, grassy slope took them back to the genesis of Star's addition to the family. Star knew instantly, excitedly whistling and quickly shifting its ocular focus between its friends and the creek, begging them to come and have a look-see.

"That's right!" Paint giggled as the gang's ten feet stepped onto the general area where the interactions had first taken place. "You really love this place, don't you? It's very nearly a shrine for our cabal."

"It's... quaint," Maxwell admitted simply.

"I'm thirsty," Jewel said. The creek was right close by, so the four animals set their backpacks on the bank. They took deep, engrossed drinks from the creek to assuage the fairly strong heat of the day from their systems. Even Paint, with all the green that spotted her, was panting a little from the strong sun - she drank the most out of anyone. "Paint, since we're refreshed now, would you mind refreshing me on what exactly you did to win Star's gratitude here?" Jewel asked quizzically.

She lapsed into the well-worn tale for her friend: "Not at all, dear boy! You see, the cruel old Dr. Eggman puts explosive canisters inside the heads of each robot he produces, or at least each of Star's kind. He does that so they'll adhere to his every wish for sheer fear. This little arrival was desperate, you see, but I called upon my sense of chivalry - a must for all self-respecting, noble women - and pried open the hatch on the rear of the little hopeful's head with an impromptu screw-driver. Of course, first I bid my trusty partner, whom I love dearly, to leave should I be blown into tossed salad, and while he was off in safety, I proceeded to scoop out the fearful one's contemptible tie to its contemptible master" - she spit on the ground with exaggerated snootiness in an unclear display of social class - "and, just to protect the world from one more little source of chaos, I climbed that yonder tree, and... and... Ah-ahaha, when d-did that happen? Ahah..."

The tree was not there.

At least, not recognizably. A few mangled, viciously torn, and burned branches were littered around, as was the absolute foundation of an extremely charred trunk. No grass or flowers grew anywhere near.

"This is... this is not good," Arrowhead spit out, gulping three times during that sentence. "H-he's been here. E-Eggman has. Close, anyway." His stick-like toad legs trembled.

"...Huh," Paint replied neutrally, instantly breaking her register in shock. "Well... I don't know what the radius of his explosive-triggering signal is, but he's been within that at some point in the past few days. It's... it's probably thousands of miles or something. We'll be fine," she assured her teammates with a slight shudder.

"Tsk-tsk," went Maxwell as he made a slight change of subject. "Eggman's gotta be major-weak and useless if he has to stick his robots in some kinda setup like that to get them to obey. Guess they don't teach leadership or effective public speaking wherever his engineering degree comes from." He buzzed over to Star, leaned in, patted it on the shoulder, and affirmed, "What a loser." He turned back to Paint and scoffed, "I bet I could kick his butt with one antenna. Paint, I hope you don't waste your admirable but fruitless cognitive efforts on being scared of him." With no equivocation about its classlessness, he spit on the ground in disgust.

**END OF PART ONE**


	43. Chapter 43

"You want to stay my friend, right?"

"Uh... of course I do. Why else would I have agreed to this?"

"Then surely you can spill the beans for us?" She smiled hopefully at her original best friend.

Arrowhead sighed and gave in. "All right. My greatest fear iiiiiiiisss..." - she leaned in and grinned, ostensibly ready to pounce, until it became apparent that this was making him uncomfortable and lessening his chances of giving a straight, deep-down answer, at which point she backed down - "uh... being buried alive, I guess."

She warmly tousled his barren scalp and responded, "That wasn't so bad, was it? ...Ah, I myself was helpless and nestled in the ground once; I bet I could do it again," before giggling innocently.

"I'd help you out with that," Maxwell murmured in monotone.

She took the opportunity to lock onto her next target. "Alright, now you go, Max!"

He looked up at the sky, averting his gaze from the midday sun only enough to have some peekaboo privacy before finally speaking up once he had made up his mind. "If I 'fear' anything, it's that my folks are going back on abandoning their 'medication'."

This was a serious answer, so she calmly contended, "I don't think they are. They really seemed to adore all the life they'd been missing - and you. Why give it up now?"

"'Cause losers don't change."

Star whistled sadly and softly, and Jewel appeared frightened to see Maxwell in such a state of weakness. Paint could not figure out a way to bounce back with any kind of wit or cheerfulness, so she stayed silent - except to say, "I- I'm sorry I had to bring this up. I'm sure there are other conversations we could be having... if we need to a-at all, that is."

He sighed and muttered, "Forget about it."

She wouldn't be able to, but she would be able to distract herself with the new scenery. Trekking north along the creek had taken the gang into a new, unexplored section of forest, inside which the twisting channel of water had slowly reached its terminus. The thin but firm and proud tree trunks were, in a sense, the first tangible symbols of having crossed the comfort-zone horizon. Yet despite the unfamiliarity and recent topic of conversation, fear was not at hand at the moment.

They came across a couple of fallen trees in short succession. The first had been overgrown with moss and was teeming with tiny yet conspicuous non-animal life, while the second appeared to be a more recent felling. Everyone took tall steps over the logs except Maxwell, who flitted over them with that grace of movement, or something like that, that only young, incorrigible insect boys have.

Jewel winced at the brief pain of whacking his right leg on the second log as he crossed it. However, Paint was the one who shortly began to display an altered gait.

Her legs shook with anxiety. "Uh, guys?" she asked everyone through unconsciously clenched teeth. "Anyone see any bushes around here?"

Arrowhead, not affected in the same way, sighed and unenthusiastically inquired, "No. Why'd you drink so much...?"

"I was thirsty... a lot." Her ears resisted her brain's half-hearted instructions to stay perked up for signs of bushes or similarly thick obstructions and curled down in embarrassment.

Maxwell was not interested in being subject to any more of this, so he pointed nonspecifically to their right and dismissively suggested, "Just go over there or something. We won't look."

"Um... n-never mind. I can wait." She hoped so; plants are normally superb at water retention.

Paint's efforts to distract herself while she waited for some privacy resulted in forced attentiveness to the sensory stimuli around. By now, they had to be at least a couple of miles into the forest expanse north of the creek's end. The trees were enveloping in all directions; no clearings, sunny or otherwise, were in the vicinity.

Her sadness replaced by tense impatience, she tried listening for interesting sounds in the distance, but the only ones in the air were of their feet crackling the grass and of the brisk breezes playing with the swaying branches.

...At least, until a loud thumping sound that dramatically escalated in volume closed in on them from straight ahead, stomping clunkily but powerfully through the trees. Before they could react, the largest Eggman robot Paint had ever seen outside her dreams was upon them. It was a silver-colored thing, shaped somewhat like a human, and completely ready to kill. The four animals knew not why, but they gasped in terror, and even Star shrieked in fear. Star regained its head quickly and warbled something in its own language, but the much larger robot did not notice, did not understand, or simply did not care.

Wasting no time in claiming its first victim, the metallic giant launched a colossally powerful fist straight at Paint. All of the color left her face, and she stood dumbstruck, devoid of the mental wherewithal to escape her own doom - until Maxwell yanked her out of its path by a split second.

"Looks like you won't be needing those bushes anymore," he noted when he saw her body's reaction.

Enraged by its failure, the robot threw its fist straight back down at Paint and Maxwell. The others cried out helplessly for their friends as the fist crashed down, but Paint snapped back into the moment, grabbed his arm, and jumped backwards together. They lost their footing and, while not immediately hurt, toppled over into the dirt.

The robot had its chance to end them, but it instead swerved ninety degrees to the right and, without warning, grabbed Jewel. He screamed in primal fear; the robot began to squeeze him mercilessly. He would not have a quick death.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Paint shouted hoarsely, adrenaline coursing turgidly through her system. She sprinted up, hoping to distract the robot or otherwise force it to set him free. Maxwell, Arrowhead, and Star sensed what she was doing and lunged toward it as well from their respective angles. She couldn't tell whether anyone was speaking, even herself - the verbal domain was an irrelevant luxury then.

"Maaaaaax..." Jewel moaned and sobbed as the giant squeezed him and swung him around mercilessly. Paint increased to full power and readied herself for whatever kind of attack she could improvise against the cruel behemoth. Friends reduced to tears from danger or sorrow reliably brought her nothing but rage at the aggressor, and this aggressor would pay.

As the friends readied their concerted attack, the robot without warning delivered a roundhouse kick to them, flinging them meters away. Paint was not hurt, but she trembled at her inability to say the same of Jewel, who continued to cry out helplessly. "JEEEEEWWWWELLL!" she shrieked in kind. Her eyes filled with that terrible rage that is corrupted by fear when its bearer realizes the cause is hopeless.


	44. Chapter 44

The chrome golem continued to increase the tightness of its grip on Jewel very, very slowly, and he sputtered the names of his friends as they looked on in horror. "P-Paint... A-A-Arrow..." - he gagged - "Max, Star... help me... p-please..." He looked ready to vomit, if only he had the energy and windpipe space.

She too experienced a lapse in breathing, as she choked back tears while staring at her friend, as helpless to stop his murder as he was. "I- I'm so sorry, Jewel... I couldn't save you i-in time... I love you," she tried to yell out, instead emitting only a pitiful, raspy whisper of it.

Able to take no more, Star unleashed what appeared to be a level of volcanic rage scarcely seen before: it screeched hideously while unloading its limited supply of bullets one by one at its cruel cousin. While on paper this would sound righteous and triumphant, Paint felt physically sick watching her sweet and gentle friend be driven to the point of red-hot anger to match its functional frame and physical violence to match the Doctor's expectations of his creations.

Star's first few shots were fairly directionless, aimed all around the larger robot's shell. None of them did much but irritate it, and it reached out to slap Star away until the smaller robot jumped out of its path. The larger robot was uninterested in bothering with Star while there was still hyena to be played with, and so it did not attack Star - or any of the animals - while they were not attacking it.

However, Star would not be satisfied until Jewel was safe and sound. Video games were likely not in its vocabulary, yet it seemed to have intuitively reasoned out the concept of a boss' weak point: it noticed that the arm draining the life from the helpless, golden-brown toy had an elbow, which was less heavily armored than the rest of the giant's body on account of needing to be flexible.

Seizing the chance, Star fired two shots without warning at the larger robot's elbow. It grunted in distress... and dropped Jewel!

"Guys, let's topple it!" Maxwell shouted, commanding the floor instantly. Paint pushed through her shock, setting everything aside but what could be her only chance to keep Jewel safe, and sprinted at the robot's legs along with Arrowhead, Maxwell, and Star. She grabbed one leg, as wide as her arm-span, and shoved with all the momentum she had. Arrowhead joined right next to her, and Maxwell helped them both out with this giant leg by clearing Paint's head and shoving from a greater height. Meanwhile, the capable Star took the other leg.

Not having expected this kind of assault, the robot was unprepared to defend itself as it swayed back and forth. For a short moment, it appeared that it was going to fall on top of the gang and cause them an ironic, quick end - Paint was almost too tired to be filled with fear once more - but one more hearty shove from the three available animals and one courageous robot, punctuated by a few more gunshots for good measure, sent the large one crashing down with a clatter that shattered whatever had been left of the serene forest ambiance altogether.**  
**

They split right to its head to look for any signs of vitality, and they found none. It was not going to get up to accost them further - it was gone.

Star tried softly talking to the fallen giant and, when it realized it would get no response, began to cry: quiet, inscrutable, and functionally useless noises leaked from its mouth and it put its head to the other robot's in solidarity.

Paint was surprised to find herself rather taken by the unusual disturbance of her metallic buddy's heart and, despite the immediate danger it had just placed them in, felt a little bad, too.

She did not speak up, but Arrowhead did, hopping to their side: "It's okay, Star. There wasn't a-anything else we could've done. It was either Jewel or that other robot, and... well, Jewel's safe."

Apparently able to stand up and not possessing any broken bones or other significant injuries, the saved hyena coughed a little and showed a winsome thumbs-up. Maxwell gave Jewel a curt nod.

Star tried to look at Arrowhead with friendliness, but could not bear it. It could not give up its sadness, and Paint gently patted its back, saying nothing; any words from her might have come off as almost insulting. The other two of the gang simply kept their distance, too solemn to intervene until Maxwell again broke the impenetrable, uncomfortable silence with, "That was dangerous. We need to keep a better lookout than that from now on."

They all nodded and got up, though Star first touched heads with the larger robot one last time, like a final kiss on the cheek. For Star's health and happiness, Paint knew it would be best to get out as soon as they could.

As they walked, though, she realized she did have to posit two more questions to Star regarding the fallen automaton, which she spoke gently to best accommodate its feelings: "Star? Has Eggman created any more robots like that one - or bigger?"

It whirred an unexcited yes.

"Hmm... Do you know what that one wanted with us?"

Star thought a bit longer about that one, stared at the ground, and sent out a long beep for negativity.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's note: About a day and a half wracked with panic attacks and the (unrelated) chores involved in moving into my new college dormitory have prolonged this chapter greatly, but I'm proud to say it's finally out. However, I don't know what the work involved in this semester will imply about the scheduling of this fic's updates; I can only request that you stay with me on this adventure, wherever it takes me and these characters. Thanks for reading, again.**

This time, the silence that surrounded the troupe was uneasy. None of them had made it that way, but there is not an easy way to carom from the uncomfortable truth of having ended a mechanical life together - even if it was necessary - to any kind of pleasant discussion. Nor could they bounce back into discussing fears; those that would be high on Paint's, Jewel's, and Star's lists had just been made uncomfortably obvious.

For miles and miles no one broke it. Breaths were long and opaque, footsteps on the dirt perfunctory and uniform except for the occasional distracted step that broke a twig. Maxwell stayed firmly on the ground, even the basic pattern of flight too jovial for him right then. The atmosphere, at the moment, was unmistakably tense. In accordance, the forest was unmistakably dense, especially with the trees no longer gnashed to bits by recent giant visitors. Paint felt overpowered by the darkness, trapped by her cell walls and pathetic need for lightness all the time.

Despite being surrounded by her loving friends in spacetime, she was alone with her thoughts. She could only turn to worry._  
_

_Why are we here? _This was not an existential concern, but a more immediate one for the sake of the other adventurers. Why, indeed, were they there? This needed only to be her hassle.

She looked at each one in turn. Arrowhead... well, he had been sticking with her for years as a rule, but she wondered why he had not stood up to her by insisting on prioritizing his blood relations above a petty acquaintance based on altruism. Surely he had not wanted to of his own accord, only being won over by her suave trickery. Maybe he was unaware of his own unhappiness; she did not see a scowl on him, but what if it was only that she did not want to see what was plainly there?

Maxwell and Jewel, though, had not even liked her for long before she had dragged them out on her quest to rejoin her nest, tuck in her legs, and close the shell of her egg. Yet she had put them in even more danger than Arrowhead. Maxwell had almost been crushed in saving her life; her yanking him back could only have been a base reflex with no real love behind it. And Jewel had suffered even worse - she could not imagine what he must have been reliving. He had even been shaking with terror early on, though by now of course he was hiding his fear as he obviously had been his injuries all along. She didn't understand very well their prior relationship with Arrowhead, but they could be back in Sunny Clearing together, all about evenly matched at Forward Slash, like three players ideally are, and having a great time at it. Their families - even Maxwell's, as recent events had evinced - would be there for them.

And Star had been forced to violate what she adored so much in it - it had taken a life, one of its own kind. Paint couldn't stand to watch it sob in a syntax forever obscured to animals, shattered by the destruction she had indirectly forced it to enact with its own innocent hands. Star deserved to be playing with the panda children and watching them grow up, helping out with the intricacies of quotidian life and being a well-loved centerpiece of it.

It was decided: she would kiss them all one last time and bid them goodbye. The distance back home was not excessive; they could be back before midnight if they were quick about it. But any further marks of affection - however strongly she was telling herself she felt it - would only trick them into staying longer, and this would be a cancer to their good fortune. She would curtly and without passion of any kind push them out of her life. Sometimes, tough love is the only kind.

With eyes as parched and static as a waterfall, she attempted a few times to coax the words from her quivering throat. _Please, I want you to go back_. She never got further than the smaller half of the first word, and even then only with a weakness of voice matched only by the chilling, malevolent weakness of her heart.

She could not do it. She would be nothing without them.

Well, they were plenty intelligent, she reasoned; they would have no difficulty in figuring out themselves in due time that she was a damper to them, and her having conveniently kept this from them would only cement the just view in their eyes of her as a contemptible villain, masked all along. She sighed in bitter resignment to her own ineptitude.

But something was wrong, yet somehow right.

Paint had been staring at the ground and moping for so long that she had not noticed the thinning out of the thicket. The trees now had somewhat more comfortable distances between them, and the sky was gleefully eating up her field of vision. It was, while elevated out of reach for the time being, orange-colored and welcoming. The late-afternoon sunlight, which felt heavenly in its warm intensity on her head, chest, and back gave her a friendly reminder that things can always change and that fear, anger, and sadness can only retain their vigorous chokeholds for so long.

And as always, she was not alone. Star's sorrowful, hollow gaze had been scraped away by the last remaining branches of the forest and bared wonder at the far-off geographical formations. Arrowhead and even Jewel looked vibrant and healthy in the setting sun, and even though Maxwell had not yet taken again to the air, it appeared that he did not want to; he was plenty happy on ground level. He caught her eye and grinned to match hers, if with a tinge of hesitant confusion at what exactly was so suddenly great - suddenly.

She couldn't give this up, and neither could any of the others. They had escaped from terror and despair into an inviting grassland that validated their commitment, and they were doing it all together. Maybe they would turn out okay.

She unzipped her bag and took a silent look at their map. Having escaped this stretch of woods put them only about five miles south of a completely new and mysterious town that went by Little Apple. Going by the topography indicated, it would be a smooth, pleasant stretch all the way there.


	46. Chapter 46

"But I wanna eat _now_!" Paint pouted, her right hand unconsciously twitching in hopes of unzipping her backpack and fishing something tasty out.

"Paint, remember that this place is called 'Little _Apple_'," Arrowhead suggested with a twinge of exasperation only just pushing aside his twinges of hunger. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of, erm, apples around that we can get instead of using up our victuals now."

"I guess," she sulked.

"I'm awfully nervous..." said Jewel. "I... I've never been to a different town before."

"None of us has," Maxwell extended. "You'll be fine. Don't sweat it."

"We can't sweat anything when we don't know where the darn place is. So much for the noble art of cartography... and of fashionable appetite suppression through willpower," Paint grumbled, scanning the surroundings with half-lidded eyes and seeing nothing but distant forests and mountains and a shallow hill just ahead of them. Even an onslaught - a manageable one - of Eggman robots would have felt like a nice distraction from the flatlining grasslands.

"Hmm... I- I don't understand, either. It should be here, or at least coming up close. Of course" - he seemed to tilt his nose up snootily even while staring downward at the visual analogue in his hands - "it's not like there are any landmarks around here to look for. Good grief."

The hill-climb, after all the walking they had already cranked out that day, was strenuous even in its objectively forgiving acuteness. "Ugh... If we don't see it soon," Paint complained as they scaled, "I'll- oh! Ahaha! Hahaha!"

The incline flattening out gave them a proper view of the cozy little village they had been looking for. Huts that would generally have fit in just fine in Sunny Clearing dotted the settlement in more unpredictable patterns that seemed more propitious to a friendly atmosphere. Jaunty, alighted windows beamed bravely against the stark, dark sky. No one was out, but the village was transparently well-worn and well-loved: even obscure nooks of grass in between buildings had been trampled into concussion by decades of animal feet, and a few temporarily forgotten children's toys lay patiently outside homes.

Yet for all its trappings of a loving, lovable place, Paint's stomach were not yet satiated, nor was her confusion about how well the town was living up to its name. Then she saw it: apple trees! The spherical beauties had been difficult to make out amongst the protecting leaf plumes, especially in the understandable darkness, but there they were and they looked delicious.

There was a single house closest to the largest total number of apple trees; it looked as though its resident or residents owned them or were in some other measure their protector. Apparently guessing that she might bolt recklessly and nibble on someone else's property, Arrowhead preemptively grabbed Paint's hand before they headed over to bow down on their inferiority and ask to stay in town for the night. Paint wasn't sure herself if this was in her own plans, but she couldn't blame him too much: she had heard stomach growls all around and yet the other animals were disciplined enough.

The dwelling, despite its possible importance, was a fairly small structure, certainly not above the twenty-fifth percentile in its municipality. The thatching of its roof was rough and uneven, yet somehow sturdy and warm. This was a theme that defined the building's whole being, and so Paint felt accepted in advance as she trotted up, a little ahead of her friends, and rapped on the door.

"Who's there?" chirped a little voice. _This_ was the homestead's owner?

"We're from a village elsewhere in... um, Kattekara District called Sunny Clearing," Arrowhead filled in. "C-can we come inside, please?"

"Sure! Lemme check you out." The owner pitter-pattered over and thrust open the door; she was a grey-green turtle with large, round eyes and very obviously an unattended little girl. She was not scared even of Star, but looked all five of them over from top to bottom like one would a dress that one was not sure if one wanted.

"Who are you bozos?" she challenged. "I'm Solakku and I'm six."

"Oh, yeah? I'm Maxwell and I'm thirteen. How do ya like that?" He had meant it harmlessly, but Solakku lunged at him and jumped on his back without warning, pulling weakly at his arms and wings. She easily could have tackled him to the ground, especially with such an element of surprise.

"Ugh-h-hey, what do you think you're doing, kid?" he hacked as he tried to shake her off. She would not budge, but she somehow didn't seem quite angry.

"Hmm, no, your proportions are all wrong... and you aren't good to your skin at all... No, I don't like you." She let him go and pinched his leg one more time just to check her work; he yelped in pain and she bit her lip, done with him and mulling the rest of the group over in stoic silence.

"Are your parents here? I think you aren't supposed to be alone without them," Arrowhead instructed.

"Nope! They're with their friends. Can't be bothered. But they like me, so they let me be home by myself. At night," Solakku boasted.

"Why'd you do that to Max?" Jewel quietly condemned.

"I'm always looking for models. I wanted to see if he would be a good one. But he's not. He looks funny. I don't wanna draw him."

"Draw?" Maxwell inquired, still nursing a couple of mild bruises.

"I'm a pafessional artist," she explained. "I mainly do nude models."

"Well, we're all nude right now, and so are you. What's wrong with us? I must say, I think we're rather dashing and would make fine figures," suggested Paint, grinning at Arrowhead from the side.

"You're weird-looking," Solakku extended to the whole group.

Star was not offended, but it slowly waved its hand in a gesture to all of its friends and then to the wider outdoors, as if to confirm an unlikely truth.

Before Paint could heroically step in to translate, Solakku revealed that she had gotten it. "Yup! Most people are weird-looking. But that's all I got, so when I draw people, I don't care."

Maxwell was getting exasperated with nothing happening: "Are you gonna keep wasting our time or what?"

Arrowhead tried being just a little softer: "We need somewhere to sleep tonight, and... and some food, too. Can your parents help us w-with that?" He sighed in simple confusion at the situation.

"No! They're not here. They're with their friends. But _I_ can help you. Here, you can have some apples or I can make you something else tasty. And you can sleep in here. They won't care." She was excited, suddenly eager to accommodate the new arrivals regardless of their artistic promise, whatever that meant. The light from just inside was inviting and the warmth welcome.

"W-why?" Arrowhead gasped. "You... you just..."

"Because I like you guys."


	47. Chapter 47

The hut's four wooden walls were parched dry - even cracking in a few places, though not deeply or in opportune enough places to indicate any structural damage or otherwise precipitate an awful near future for the house. As Paint had noticed right after stepping inside, though curiously not before, there was a relaxed, bubbling fire in the back-left corner with a couple of spare bits of handy firewood. Very little about the place had been altered from its original coloring or overly processed in any way.

Not counting the artwork, of course: there were lots of sketches - few of them with any little finesses approaching finishing touches - plastered around the place askew. The subjects mostly looked like other Mobian animals that were not familiar to Paint - a moth, a beaver, a blue jay, a grasshopper, some kind of grumpy rodent. Unusually for the work of such a recently hatched craftswoman, they were actually fairly well proportioned. They looked like, well, the animals they were supposed to. Solakku could have lamented on how boring and weird-looking the subjects were until Baaritch had descended from his heavenly perch in amazement at a mortal outdoing his godly loquaciousness; she had still brought them plenty well to life in Paint's eyes.

Yet she did not seem satisfied with any of her work; there were plenty of balled-up drawings in a sorrowful wastebasket, and most of her drawings that stayed up were clustered around photographs of three-year-old Solakku rather than, in her eyes, worthy of their own place independent from the transient cuteness of the creator. In contrast, a few sculptures and a couple of bizarre wire creations - one of them looked kind of like a cross between a throne and a telescope - were placed in more natural focal points, one of them even on somewhat of a perch. These had not been made by Solakku, but Paint caught her wistfully staring at one for a second as the friendly proceedings stirred.

And so they did. Sitting cross-legged on a wooden floor with peanut-butter sandwiches and grape juice certainly is one way for a group of friends to enjoy their personal story-telling. Yet Solakku, who had initiated the ritual, was lying on her belly to listen with indulgent curiosity as her new elders explained their situations.

"I bet Tails is a cool guy," she exhaled during a break in the stories. "If I'm ever an endineer, I wanna meet him, so we can echange tips - and talk smack about you." She giggled, probing for some kind of reaction.

"Indeed, plenty of smack is ripe to be talked about me!" Paint chortled. "I am a hopeless case. And thank you, Solakku; I'll tell him you said so."

She nodded and turned a little for a new question: "Star, I like your gun. It's sleek and cool. Is it also powerful and butt-kicking?" She fidgeted with it for a couple of seconds before remembering that firearms can be dangerous, after which point she sniffed and rubbed it.

Star looked down sadly and beeped affirmation. Realizing her error, she stared guiltily into its round, disconsolate eyes.

"Yes, it is, although it takes some time to charge. But Star doesn't want to talk abou-" Arrowhead replied before she carelessly cut him off.

"I'm sorry, Star. Hug?" And she was.

That proposal Star was happy with. After a hug, she climbed into its arms and lay down, stomach down to avoid rolling around on her shell.

"Star, what's your name come from?" she asked softly as a safe question.

It silently gestured up beyond the roof at the celestial bodies that lie above, and as this alone was of course not satisfying, Paint explained, "Star picked the name itself! We don't think Dr. Eggman gave it one himself - he created Star, by the way, though I think its loyalties lie safely with us. Right, Star?"

Star whirred affectionately.

"Eggman?! Ooh, he's bad," Solakku snarled gleefully. She did an Eggman face at Star by miming a silly, jagged mustache with her hands, just as Star had done - it apparently wanted to reciprocate her gesture but could not drop her, so it just whirred and giggled for recompense.

"What's your name from? It sounds like an Echidna word," Arrowhead guessed as he scratched his puzzled, underinformed forehead.

"It is one! It means 'the fruit that lasts forever' in the Echinna language. My parents love that stuff. ...Heeeey, what does _your_ name mean, Maxell?"

"No idea," he answered thoughtfully. "Mobian was originally a human language, right? I dunno, must've been absorbed from some other human language back on Earth, I guess. Whatever it means, it's tough, strong, and courageous, just like its righteous beholder - oh, yeah." He flexed his arms for a brief second.

Star giggled at his display and looked back at its other friends, and so did Solakku as she rubbed one droopy eye.

"Weird. Anyway, can I draw you guys?" she asked the group, rotating her head back to meet Star's to ensure that it understood the request as well.

"All skills take practice, wherever you can get it," Jewel spoke in something like a home-worn recitation.

"Whatever happened to us being ugly buffoons?" Maxwell sneered at the insufficiently consistent-minded artist.

"Changed mah mind again" - yawn - "and Jewel is right on that. Practice is good."

It was contagious and brought Arrowhead a new question. "So... I... w-we're getting kinda tired. I should say, it's been an awfully long... er..."

"Blankets and pillows are over there, bub," Solakku murmured, already in her last minutes of awakeness, and pointed a feeble, scaly finger toward a pile of bedclothes and similar cloth things hopelessly overflowing from a single twine wicker basket.

"It is awfully nice of y-" Jewel began to casually assert as he sleepily flitted his gaze around the place, until he heard two pairs of footsteps and some casual conversation approaching from outside and the door thrust open. Two turtles stood confused and startled in the doorway, not yet stepping inside to welcome or protest one way or the other. They were on the young side to be parents and wore strange colorful cotton gowns that were speckled with garishly colored abstract patterns and did not match each other any more than they did the rest of the dwelling's decorations. They had expected to be all socialized out for the evening and discovered they would not be.

Maxwell, Jewel, and Star looked up, startled at the ironic intruders. Arrowhead turned to them and yawned again, obscuring an already obscure tangle of words.

The quick orange fox jumped over the lazy frog and greeted them. Mysterious intruders, one of whom was holding their sleeping daughter, would not naturally win a couple over with normalcy, so she would have to with charisma and a quick explanation.

"Hi! We're vagabonds from Sunny Clearing on a trip across the world. We're out to meet my father and have a devilishly wonderful time adventuring along the way while hopefully not being accosted or killed by Dr. Eggman. My father's a fox. My mother was from another planet; I don't know a lot about her. My friends are just regular, monoracial animals, though, except for Star here - who is totally and completely not dangerous. I expect Star would be accepting of any gender pronouns you choose, though the neuter has been the convention. Why does our language do that, anyway? It's a strange category to distinguish nouns for. Anyway, my other buddies are, in the order that follows, Jewel, Maxwell, and Arrowhead. Our gang has gotten along exquisitely well with your daughter, and she wants to draw us sometime; I like her work very much from what I've seen - genuinely so, not just because she's so little. She said we could sleep here tonight and that you would be unfazed, though I dunno how that's gonna hold up."

After her spattering spiel, Paint shone a painfully wide, toothy grin; Maxwell grimaced and facepalmed.


	48. Chapter 48

**Author's note: It was tough to put this out, really tough, because after I'd finally gotten the inspiration for how I wanted it to play out, I submitted it and got a login timeout error. Of course this happens the ****_ONE_**** time I forget to save my work beforehand, too. Hundreds of words I really liked the flow of down the drain. It's a miracle I finished it at all.**

"So, let me get this all straight, little miss 'Paint', because you've certainly thrown a lot at us," Solakku's father shot out at her before clearing his throat dramatically and continuing.

"You and your adorable little 'gangster' posse crawl in from your idyllic faraway hamlet and tramp into a home unattended but by a six-year-old girl who, as far as you know, knows nothing of the terrors that blight foreigners of all strains - terrors which, I might add, I have yet to be convinced escape easy application to you lichen. This is not a problem to you, and so when her reasonably outraged parents arrive from an unneeded night of colorful ego-coating to protect their nest, you have the thunderous audacity to brazenly chirp for a magical sip of that elixir that you're sure to have won a sample of far too many times over: forgiveness. Well, 'Paint', I don't know where these ideas stumble into your head from, so I think I'll just chalk it up to the old legends of mad foxes. I'm not normally a superstitious person, but I've been given cause." He spit disgustedly on the floor of his own home - seeming to, anyway; no saliva was visible.

Solakku, who was wide awake now - still lying comfortably in Star's arms and stretching - stared neutrally at her outraged father. Perhaps this was not the first she had seen of it. Her mother placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and whispered something silent to him, smiling weakly in the process. He was having none of it and brushed the disappointed woman off immediately. "'Paint', I only have one question for you."

Paint's head - and with it her whiskers and ears; everything but her eyes - hung pitifully downward in her remorse and fear. In a pitiful whine that would normally accompany turning one's belly up in submission to a more powerful and dominant fox, she stammered, "W-what-t?"

He deeply sighed and said, "Surely you've been around long enough to get a feel of the homestead. Any preferences for sleeping location? Anja and I aren't picky; we're moreso just tired."

She reverted her head to normal stature and cocked it to one side in confusion, then repeated her inquiry: "...Uh, what?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm not angry at you," he soothed. "I thought it'd be fun to mess with the new kid for a waggle. Didn't realize it was that convincing. Here, are you okay?" He was somewhere between puzzled and remorseful, either way waiting for some kind of approval that she was a good sport.

Paint leered at Solakku and Anja: mother and daughter were sheepishly chuckling together with at least some allegiance to father and his tomfoolery.

Jewel spoke up in protest: "Why'd you frighten her - us, a-actually - like that? That wasn't very nice."

"Impulse, dear boy! Passion! Charge of the moment! It's all I have to keep my eggs beaten during the off-season; the theater has lost its leaves weeks ago and I'm getting into shenanigans like this. But, ah" - he saw little approval in the guests' eyes - "I do believe, to be clear, that I may have been in the wrong." His wife nudged him encouragingly to keep going. "And yes - thank you, sweetheart - we would all be glad to have you here on this sweet night. I only wish we were better informed on your doings and your will-doings... but I daresay you could fix that for us?"

"We're not entirely unreasonable," Paint cheerily confirmed.

After a conversation that the travelers found difficult to keep grounded in one place - past a short introduction by the travelers alone - and that seemed to cover all existential nooks possible while somehow wandering further and further from concrete descriptions of the turtles' day-to-day lives with each breath, all of the animals in the room realized collectively that they were scarcely able and wholly unwilling to keep themselves awake any longer.

Solakku's father yawned like a caricature of a sleeping being to a race that does not, blew out the lanterns that lit the indoors - leaving only a couple of candles - and asked his daughter in a flimsy act of playfulness, "Solakku, your mother and I are just exhausted. Would you tuck us in and read us a bedtime story?"

Solakku was even further along than him, muttering only a few words before plopping down in one of several large easy chairs: "Do it yourself, ya bum." With that, she had left the valley of the stirring, so he kissed her gently on the forehead before taking his own place on the floor with a spare blanket and pillow, as did his wife. They were out with expedience, too.

The adventurers distributed themselves wherever space permitted: Jewel and Maxwell together on a ratty couch, Arrowhead on the floor as well with a thick blanket and pillow, and Paint on a smaller couch, her legs draped lazily over one of its arms. Slumber's warm embrace came quickly for her, too, especially with having gone this long without much light.

However, she woke not quite with a start, but with the unassertive presence of something by her side. A glimpse out the window showed that it was still nighttime and, by the candles' remaining wick-span, perhaps under a couple of hours had passed. This figure that stood beside her was a shaking, visibly upset little turtle.

"S-Solakku? What is it?" she croaked.

"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"

"Of course, if you want. Why me, though? Your own parents are right over there." And they were.

The littlest reptile was uninterested in debating, though; she brought a thick blanket over and climbed up on top of Paint, who winced slightly at her fur being pulled but welcomed the younger girl with open arms. Solakku sandwiched herself between the covering's inherent protection and Paint's warm body, then they both returned to slumber with no explanation.


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's note: I am all, I am all I am. (I hope you're reading this - you know who you are. I don't want you to feel hurt or scared.)**

Paint was awakened by the stretching of her second blanket, something she could not find it in herself to deem inconsiderate. Instead, the reason she was there was a more immediate cause of worry.

"Hello!" Paint creaked. "How are you doing on this winsome morning?"

"Fine," Solakku croaked. "I'm a little bit tired still, but I'm staying up."

She decided to phrase her second question - the first had indeed been a genuine one - with equivocation and circumlocution throughout to keep the interactions a secret between herself and Solakku because, while no one else had woken up quite yet, they very well could. "Solakku, are you... relieved of your recent anxieties?"

"What? Oh... mpfph." She slumped down, still not having stood up yet, and buried her face in her pillow's white, fluffy belly fur. That was in all likelihood a no.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Does... does this need to be continued outside our present surroundings?"

The child nodded, tumbled off of Paint's chest and the couch, and motioned weakly to the outdoors. They both tiptoed in this direction and left the house, exploring a bit further to be as alone as possible between the hollow shadows of their physical surroundings and the bright robin's-egg-blue sky. Finally, they settled on a log that was suitably welcoming and unwelcoming at the same time and nettled with fuzzy moss that hung in jagged patterns from its face.

Paint needed no lead-in, as Solakku started relaying her nightmare with haste: "I was being eaten by a _huuuuge_ monster. It had rows and rows of giant teeth and awful, rotten breath. I couldn't see its eyes very well, but I knew it was staring at me just like it was licking its lips. It was really scary, 'specially because no one was coming to rescue me. A-and I wasn't the only one. My mom and my dad were also about to be chomped up, but the monster's friend said it'll let them go if I draw a puhfectly realistic picture of it. But I couldn't do it. I had a pencil and paper, but it looked like a cartoon. You and your friends were there, too, and you were all really angry and disappointed at me. And Star was-was _really_ scary. I couldn't do anything and I- I was..." Unable to tame and harness her amygdala enough to put the rest of her emotions into words, she sunk back into Paint's chest and resumed crying.

Paint wanted to interject something standard about how dreams are not real, but she stopped herself at realizing how vivid and significant her own were. Instead, she hesitated before trying something else. "Solakku... why did you pick me to sleep on? If Star was especially scary - and this doesn't reflect reality; Star likes you - why not Jewel? Jewel likes you. And he's warm-blooded like me. Plus, I'm not... I'm not _normal_."

"I know you're not normal. You don't have parents."

Though Paint stood buried in the sand a sea of introspective emotional contradictions away from getting verbally or physically violent at a slight like that, she did wince at it. That was mean... it was, at least, until she realized what had just been said.

"Yes... yes, you do," she tried to gently affirm, unsure of what was coming.

"No, I don't. I have betters."

"Ahahah" - a nervous laugh erupted - "you sure do! They bet you're going to succeed in a-"

"They are _better than me_."

"No, they aren't. You still-"

"No, I'm _not_!" the despairing reptile contested, uncaring of the rest of Paint's message from the weight of her own. "I can't make cool stuff like my mom, and I can't be funny and make people feel all kindsa things like my dad. I've tried it and I can't do it. I'm stuck in... the limbo. I can't be close to them. I just can't do anything right. And I kinda thought maybe you could... underdstand that."

Paint sighed and looked off into the blossoming sunrise, her outward display of compassion for her young friend on a brief hiatus. "You have no idea," she exhaled.

Accepting this, Solakku leaned up to Paint and against her fiery-furred side. Together, they continued to observe the surroundings that one of them was quite new to and that the other had not been alive and memory-forming to experience for too long. The clouds shone vividly in their disharmonious hues, and a sound that could have been an Earth bird was noticed. Their other relationships - a frustratingly mixed bag by any measure - did not matter here; it was enough just to feel each other's heartbeats and breathing.

"Solakku?" Paint asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Yeah?"

"You're just six."


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's note: Writer's block is the worst.**

Paint betrayed a slight cringe at using what might be taken as a cheap, patronizing insult.

And indeed it was: "Hey, listen, you, I just-"

"B-but you're six," Paint asserted. "They've had decades more than you have to refine their crafts."

"But they've been perfect at it forever!" She let her head sink slowly into her shell as though her frustration at her own incompetence as a craftsperson was literally painful. Her arms and legs stayed out but expressed nothing.

"I don't think so; no one is. Remember Jewel's mantra from last night? 'All skills take practice'. Sure, Maxwell can fly way up in the air and be our scout and protector-guy now, but he wasn't born knowing how to do it." She realized mid-sentence that it was unclear whether Maxwell's own parents had taught him much about that or he had simply had to learn himself, but stifled it out of her mind. "Even Star's learned how to communicate with us blood-and-muscle beings better, based on what we do and don't understand of its esoteric machine mannerisms, and so have we in understanding it. It wasn't an easy transition in every way, but now Star's part of our... our family."

"I-I just don't know, Paint..." - the hollow voice rang from inside the shell.

"And you have a giant advantage from the start, too. D'ya notice how none of us were talking to you about artistic techniques, cross-hatching, pressure-shading, any of that mumbo-jumbo? We weren't... because none of us can do it, and we're all older than you. You're the artist among us. You... you _have_ it."

Solakku thought that one over, and her head rose from its crevice. Her eyes poked straight forward, then at Paint, and she slowly began to grin.

"Yeah..."

Her guest stared expectantly, and Solakku affirmed, "Yeah... of _course_ I have it! Obbiously. I would want to teach you guys that stuff, but alas, you gotta go see your dad. Just like I should... I should see _mine_."

The situation gladly resolved, Paint lamented, "That we do, but if we ever do come back here you can impart us with all the knowledge you've gained up to that point - assuming our mortal, non-reptilian minds can grasp it."

Solakku snickered and replied, "I'll think about it."

The sun was steadily rising and provoking of energy of all flavors; the morning was no longer "early". After tiptoeing around to the front of her house, Solakku and Paint cracked open the door and saw the building's living contents in a mixed state of awakeness. Star was, of course, sound asleep in the corner, awaiting its need not to be. Arrowhead was hugging his blanket and unwilling to get up completely from the floor, but rather resting on his elbows and looking at the two entrants, yawning a bit rigidly at them instead of offering a traditional greeting. Jewel was only in the earliest throes of stirring, while Maxwell was still sprawled out on the couch they shared like a low-hanging cloud in a sleepy valley, a small drop of drool lingering on the corner of his closed mouth. The resident patriarch was also sound asleep, while his wife looked to be gathering things to make breakfast. The parched walls were being mildly scorched from the day's beginning by the sun in the east, and they did not seem to like being awoken in their creaky old bodies.

When Anja saw the girls step in, she stayed wholly relaxed and said to them, "Oh, there you two are. Guess you couldn't have stayed out forever. No matter. Here. Wake these lugs up."

Breakfast that morning, with all in attendance, was uneventful. The meaningful strands of everyone's life story already having been spilled out, they spoke only about inconsequential, pleasant details such as the likely weather outcomes for that day - some of the clouds deep in the northeast looked a little cantankerous, but there was nothing else of note in the sky - and the largely untapped, uncontroversial benefits of solar power. Eventually, however, a niggling detail wormed its way through the skin of Paint's brain, one she couldn't leave unspoken for long.

"So, ahah, a-are those _your_ apples all around outside?"

"What?" Solakku's father yawned. "Oh. Well, yes, technically they're ours, naturally, the trees having made their home on the land that's also technically ours. But you'd find if you all stayed here longer that these concepts are not given much attention, and so we're not especially protective of the fruit, no. In fact, we're sick of the darned things above all else, and so are lots of other Little Apple-ans who have taken it upon themselves to claim the fruits of our lucky soil for themselves. If someone, say, in this room, even, were to ask for one... Well, I suppose we'll never know, seeing as that won't happen. No matter."

He craned his neck downwards near the table, searching for something with which to busy himself between bites - apparently reading material, most ideally - and found it: an old book of archaeological sites from around Mobius. Two such sites were featured in vivid detail on the cover, as Paint noticed while drooling in absentminded anxiety at it. Above was a pyramid made of great big stone blocks in the middle of a wooded canyon; below was an excavated temple in the desert, low to the ground, laid out like a labyrinth, and with carvings inscribed in a strange, blocky alphabet throughout the thing's walls.

Realizing that his exaggerated interest in the old tome was keeping him from answering her, Paint nervously squirmed in her seat and groaned, not forming a complete vocalized throught.

Clearly bored with this whole display, Maxwell stepped in. "Listen, Thespian-in-Chief, she clearly wants some apples to fill her fat stomach, and if I'm honest we could all use some to take with, so would it kill you to give her a straight answer? This is getting kind of embarrassing."

Arrowhead concurred, "S-she was leaning toward asking that earlier, but I wasn't sure it'd be a good idea..."

"Hah!" he conceded. "Hahaha! No, it wouldn't. I suppose that was a little excessive and unkind. Fill away, my darling." Reverting to his ostensible disinterest in the topic matter, he flipped through the pages of his book once more, smiling once at Paint for a fraction of a second. Solakku bugged her eyes out and stared at Paint with mocked disapproval from across the table, but wasn't able to keep the charade up for long. Star let out a singsong whistle.

Outside, the four animal adventurers loaded the requisite apples into their backpacks while Jewel chomped on an additional one right there. Few words were exchanged; instead, Solakku idly sharpened one of her goldenrod pencils with an old, dulled knife. Paint was about to comment, but they were interrupted by the trampling through nearby grass of a friendly neighbor. He was a lime-green grasshopper with shiny, authentic brown eyes, and he strode right up and struck a conversation right up.

"Hey there, turtles! Couldn't help but notice the old apple trees shakin' on this be-eautiful mornin', and I was wond'rin' what might be the cause. It's not the normal season for apple pies or nothin'; could you be asked for a bit of an explanation?"

"Hey, dude!" Solakku called over to him.

"Oh, hello, Frank!" Solakku's mother said. "We hosted these children here last night. They're passing through on a great adventure, it seems. They wanted apples to take with them. So we're letting them have them. You are right, after all."

He turned to the kids, a little disoriented, then settled his gaze on Paint. "Hmm... Oh, no, it couldn't-" - his eyes widened with the revelation - "Oh, my... Sweetheart, you wouldn't happen to be a fox named _Tails'_ little girl, would you? Now, _that_ takes me back. I swear... I can see it in your eyes."

"Yup! That's me," she chirped. "Paint, Paint the Seedrian-Fox of Sunny Clearing, gender female, age eleven, weight twenty-seven kilograms, eyes blue, ethnic origin equal parts Seedrian and fox, first language Mobian, currently single, currently unaffiliated with a political party, criminal record thankfully empty. And 'Tails' is indeed my father's name - his face, however, I haven't yet been blessed to see..."

Frank was puzzled. "What? I don't see how come that could be... This ain't a joke about you bein' blind or nothin', is it?"

"Actually, s-she's never met him, sir," Jewel explained. "He still lives on the other side of the world, and he doesn't know she exists. That's why we're adventuring like... like so. We... _I_ want to meet him, too. He sounds like a great person."

Frank nodded, and while he did, Star beeped in corroboration and, secondarily, as a late greeting to the stranger. Not having noticed the robot before and unsure at first as to where the sound had come from, he turned around in confusion until he was staring straight into Star's gentle eyes.


	51. Chapter 51

Frank's eyes ballooned up in primal fear, as though he'd been stricken with a chance meeting of a long-lost enemy. He cracked open his mandible in an attempt to scream, but instead found himself only able to gasp and fall onto his behind.

Puzzled and spooked itself, Star slowly walked over to the once hardy-looking insect. "G-git away! I thought I'd be done with you mean ol' things forever!" Frank sputtered.

"Oh, no, not this... It was a mistake for me to keep quiet..." Solakku's father groaned with a darkened grimace.

"Star, do what he says..." Arrowhead cautioned from the sidelines, unwilling to act more forcefully. Paint's diplomacy instincts kicked in, a little delayed by the startling nature of the conflict, but she couldn't think of an immediate course of action that mightn't simply make things worse - especially when she didn't even know why Frank was reacting this way or Star was not opting to back away with a proverbial white flag in tow.

No, Star was going to keep going. Frank had no weapon to attack it with, and his bladed arms would do nothing to damage its hull. He managed to cough up a few unintelligible syllables; "_Lussendeth_", the name of Baaritch's goddess wife, was among them - probably some kind of prayer. This all stopped, though, as Star leaned down, its arm closed in, and it stopped to help Frank up.

He only stared up confusedly, and Star whistled to offer help.

"W-what're you d-d...?" Frank sputtered.

"Star, bad idea," Maxwell muttered from the sidelines.

Star tilted its head curiously, keeping its hand planted in the same place. Cautiously, Frank reached out his, trembling with exponential force as it neared the robot's, and gulped as he grabbed it, then firmed his grasp. Star gently and slowly pulled him up, let go, and whistled as a greeting.

Frank leered at his hopeful friend for a few grueling seconds, then turned quickly to Paint. "Girl, you know this is one of _Eggman_'s robots, don't ya?"

"Of course I do!" she confirmed. "Well... vestigially, at least. It once claimed _de facto_ allegiance to the factious Doctor E, but ever since it was abandoned on a mission by its robot teammates and came to us for help a while ago, Star has been able to release the winds of its gentle heart unfettered by any silly ties like that. It won't hurt you."

Sure enough, Star continued not to hurt the disheveled Frank despite the relative ease of doing so. It only focused its eye cameras on him, confused as to what it might have done wrong and what it could do now to help.

Paint waved him on to encourage him to reach out, so he sighed and stood firmly and formally to greet Star like a sensible adult. "Hello, 'Star'. I do apologize for my reckless behavior just now. I reckon I was being prejudiced and I might instead be better off lookin' at you like a friend, and not as somethin' to be feared."

"Naturally," Arrowhead stated, "but why were you so scared in the first place? I wonder if it could've been... been more than just a general fear of robots manufactured by Eggman...?"

"Could've been, maybe, sum'n along those tracks. Anyway, turtles and guests, I think I'd better be scamperin' off to my daily chores right now. I'm sorry, Star. Have a nice morning, everyone." The discussion neatly wrapped up as far as Frank was concerned, he hopped away tersely, leaving everyone else in an uncomfortable silence.

Visibly shaken, Solakku's mother stepped up and quietly reminded the group, "Okay, it's late enough in the morning, so I think you'd better leave. You have everything, correct? If not, I'll help. It's easy."

Her daughter followed, returning once again to an attitude of stony, firm compassion for Star. "It's okay, Star; he's just... well, a long time ago, he-"

The last member of the chelonian household made sure to quickly interject, "Star, never be afraid of who you are. I implore you of that much - security in one's identity is so rare to come by these days. Your heritage should never be a cause for discomfort. The hyenas, way back in their day, were some of the most vicious colonialists on the entire planet, and Jewel is only... You'd be well served not to let this discourage you." He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily, and it was only morning.

"I guess that's it, then," Arrowhead conceded unenergetically. "Let's... let's just..."

"Wait! You bozos can't go yet!" Solakku shouted out of nowhere.

Everyone stared at her inquisitively, so to answer them she pulled an old pencil from in front of her neck, through the upper opening of her shell.

"Nope, not yet!" she repeated. She grinned turned her head toward her parents optimistically, coughing once to get their attention so they could see what she had in store.

Once they were finally descending the hill that had obscured Little Apple the previous evening and was closing it off to them once more, the five friends alternated who got to hold Solakku's group portrait and admire it warmly.

"Well, I can tell ya one thing, Paint," Maxwell summed up after his good, hard look at it. "She sure captured your 'strange, kinda alien appearance'."

"Thanks!" she yipped agreeably. "I can almost feel the quixotic caress of your 'odd odor' leaping off the page. She captured that well."

"Oh, you are so..." he snarled, flexing his arms behind his back in a flighty adrenaline burst, "...silly." Unable to bring himself to project - perhaps even feel - any more anger at her, he chuckled to himself and began eyeing the tiny artist's little intricacies in the five brave figures.

"Heheheh. Arrow, what do you think of yours? You are obligated to use at least two pretentiously long words. In-depth gifts deserve in-depth thought!"

"It's really, really... good," he said blankly before looking back at the prairie expanses and distant mountains that lay in their path.

"Knew I could count on you, tadpole!" Paint chortled, playfully rubbing one fuzzy, leafy shoulder against his damp, smooth one. "Ah, I suppose sheer loss of oneself in this portrait's compelling intricacies has to count for something, huh?"

"I like mine," Jewel admitted quietly. "It's just kinda... strong, maybe. Purposeful. I wish I was more like that. A-and Star, I think your dark cape is pretty neat. Maybe even imaginative."

Star looked at the heroic, ostensibly battle-worn creases and mild tears in the cape of its drawn incarnation, then whirred rather loudly a few times in cheerful agreement. It was a bit startling.


	52. Chapter 52

Late afternoon in the prairie is often a time of intense, draining, and truly unpleasant brightness and heat. With one's body fully exposed to the sun and all of its cruel tricks, one can easily and without much reason for blame be soured to the landscapes that otherwise might be seen and experienced as quite beautiful and serene.

Such was the case for the adventurers on this particular late afternoon. Since it was still a new area of the world to them, they could not be too unforgiving of the landscapes of central-eastern Kattekara, but the blaring sun that blasted their backs with light both blistering and bodacious made it difficult to be too open to the natural beauty that surrounded them.

Arrowhead coughed, a bit loudly but without much bite behind it, and announced without a specified recipient, "I'm getting my water bottle out. Urgh, I can feel myself drying out already…" And he did, and he drank deeply.

"I could use some as well," Paint realized out loud, patting the greenish bang of hair that jutted out messily from her forehead. And she retrieved and indulged herself in her spring as well. So did Maxwell and Jewel, although they were not vocal about it. Once everyone had theirs in hand, they all resumed walking once more.

With no pertinent topic of conversation now and the focus of the moment directed at Star, who of course had not needed to drink but had waited patiently for its friends to, curiosity about Star began to crocus up in the animal adventurers' heads.

"Hey, Star," asked Jewel, "back before you ever met us, I know you had _teammates_ and all, and most of them apparently weren't really very pleasant to be with, and you had Dr. Eggman and his robot subordinates to lead you all, but did you ever have any... any real _friends_?"

Star thought about that question, "friends" presumably not being a concept it had been taught to distinguish back then. It did whir yes, though, when the dissection of the question was complete.

"Really? ...Cool!" Jewel exclaimed. "What kind of perso- er, robot... um, it was a robot, right?"

As Star spoke through its body and the world surrounding, the animals watched and picked up that this friend was indeed a robot. Star had bonded instantly with it when it had helped the embarrassed, maligned Star safely repair Star's own rechargeable battery after the original had begun to malfunction - and Star in turn gave it poetic talks for confidence. They were fast friends, always picking each other when Dr. Eggman ordered them to assemble into groups for missions. The other robot once told Star that, if Eggman ever set them all free, it would like to either go on more adventures with Star or live together in a home in the meadow - both if circumstances allowed.

In a way, the Doctor did. In the present day, Star began to have trouble continuing with its tale from then on - not because of translation difficulties, but something more akin to being choked up. As best as Paint could interpret its shaking gestures, Star's best friend passed away during a battle involving a team of Eggman's robots, having been murdered by someone with pointy feet or shoes. Star wanted to run away and grieve, if not find some way to bring its best buddy back to life, but its teammates - not the same as its deserters later on - insisted it continue with the job without emotion. The robots did indeed manage to scare this hazy figure away, preventing him or her from reaching whatever goal he or she had had in mind, but Star's heart was broken, and it certainly was not up for eager participation the next time a violent mission was in the cards. Star's depression kept it from being up for much participation in missions at all, actually, and it got to be considered a bit of a deadweight by its teammates. Things happened.

"...What jerk-holes," Maxwell concluded when Star was done with its elaborate explanation. He considered how to continue for a bit before doing so: "Kicking you when you're down like that, vulnerable on the ground, is... isn't good."

"And to think that they eventually made it back to Sunny Clearing..." Arrowhead trailed off. "S-Star, you haven't seen any _other_ teammates you knew back there since you left, right? I mean, I don't imagine a family reunion is in the cards..."

Star beeped no; it was most likely uninterested in continuing on with those residents of its past.

"Well... you know what?" he responded. "I don't know if I mind that. I'm glad you're with us."

Maxwell gave a simple, single nod in Star's direction.

"I am not glad, though, that we don't have more water," Arrowhead transitioned once he was satisfied that Star had been sufficiently reminded of its status in their hearts.

"Y-yeah, we're getting as dry as our mushroom incarnations out here..." Paint mumbled uncomfortably.

"I don't suppose we should... turn back or anything? I-I mean... Little Apple isn't _that_ far away," Jewel suggested meekly, bracing for his idea to be shot down.

And it was, albeit gently. "Erm, while _we_ love Star like a sibling, Jewel, remember that not everyone does," Paint explained. "And really, I think we can make it to a water source before too long, and we've got to keep going whenever we can. Isn't there some kind of river not immensely far up ahead? ...Oh, that's right; I've got the map," she realized and checked it tiredly. "Yeah, just a few... a few more miles. Urgh."


	53. Chapter 53

**Author's note: An update _o__ne_ day after the previous one?! What kind of sorcery has been inflicted on us today? Well, the answer is that I tried starting soon after the previous chapter had been completed - and I like it more this way! The events and the characters' thoughts are fresh in my mind, so I'm better able to get a nice streak going. Of course, this doesn't guarantee that I'll have _time_ to pen one chapter a day, admittedly - American universities don't earn their "public Ivy" status by affording their students excessive leisure time every day...**

**Oof, but now that I'm looking at the page views, they really are down the toilet. Recommend this to your _Sonic_-aholic fanfic-friendly associates, everyone!**

**On a related note, I've received the question a few times of whether Paint will ever meet Tails. Spoiler alert: yes! I have no intentions of pulling a Charles M. Schulz and keeping that long-desired goal from you all. It will just take a lot of time - for Paint and the gang as well as for you and me. Stay tuned, explore the wealth of other _Sonic _fanfics, and relax!**

The hours dragged their feet by with increasing sluggishness and scarcity of energy, and so did the adventurers. Eventually the sun did decide that it had had enough of its own grating presence and that it was time to descend out of sight for the day - but while this alleviated the temperature's exacerbation of the animals' growing thirst, it did nothing to solve the core issue at hand.

Arrowhead licked the sides of his mouth futilely, clearly made uncomfortable by the extensive time spent with empty water bottles and no source of adequate replenishment in sight. Jewel and Maxwell weren't doing much better, either. Paint had it the worst of all, though: the greener areas of her fur felt stiff and increasingly lifeless - a bit of yellowing at the tips would not have surprised her, though she could not see any yet - and her muscles' movements had little energy or command behind them.

The endless swaths of meadow had eventually taken them to an increasingly hilly area with trees cropping up once more, though not on the level of a forest yet. It looked like an area ripe for a highly welcomed river, and yet none was in the vicinity. The soil, which was partially exposed through the patchy grass, looked rather unhealthy and grainy; Paint couldn't imagine Mobian animals, humans, or even Earth animals making their homes anywhere like this willingly.

"I don't get it," Arrowhead spat out in frustration as he eyed their map. "The river's supposed to be right around here, and I see nothing. We're supposed to be able to trust these things..."

"Hmm..." Maxwell grunted, jumped into the air, and made a buzzing of his wings - a weak one at first, but soon enough of one to get high enough to have a look around and see if they could be missing something.

His eyes did eventually find their target, or at least _something_ worth their fixation, but his face showed little enthusiasm across it. He flitted back down and said, "Oh, the river's here, all right. In a few more steps we'll all be able to check it out for ourselves, yeah..."

Dim, orange-red flames of curiosity stirred in Paint's head and she picked up the pace a little bit; her other friends followed. The path Maxwell was silently pointing them in took them through a short, thin copse, past a few small boulders, and into a perfectly capable riverbed. A dry riverbed. Oh, there clearly _had_ been a vivid spring of life here at some point, but that point had passed years ago. Paint silently cursed Sunny Clearing's isolation from industrialized, connected Mobian cities, and all of the inaccessibility to current cartography and news updates that came along with it.

Arrowhead groaned pitifully, pinching his forehead in anguish and about ready to yell. Jewel didn't look too happy at this time-worn, unpleasant sight, either, and even Star seemed dismayed just for its friends. The air and sky loomed heavy and tense as though curious about the burgeoning angst below.

"Ahah... maybe you were right, Jewel," she muttered exasperatedly. "Turning back... maybe not such a bad idea after all."

"It's a little late for that now, Paint," Arrowhead grunted with thin, aimless streams of bitterness seeping from his every pore.

"...Is it?" Jewel interjected with unexpected firmness. "I mean... I don't really see what choice we have."

Paint wasn't sure she did, either, but very much did not want to turn back if they were under no true obligation to. "Urrrrgh... I mean..." she growled aimlessly, upset at nothing but herself and the gods' logistics that had put them as infants in such an isolated, complacent corner of the planet. She wasn't saving her friends; she wasn't kicking butt. What would Cosmo have thought of this?

Her heart sank further as Arrowhead attempted to speak up again: "Guys, I really think we sh-"

Suddenly, a loud, acute thunderclap shook the entire area. Everyone was weakly startled by the giant sound, but Paint jumped for the nearest trusted being available - which turned out to be Maxwell. She gripped him tightly and shivered rather fitfully.

"Hey, calm down, why don't ya?" he asked abruptly as he took her primal fear in and remembered another recent time she had been startled. "...You've already peed a few hours ago, right?"

"Paint, what is it?" Jewel asked her. "Um... you don't usually get scared from weather or noises like this, in my experience. I even... a-ad-... um..."

"I don't like lightning," she sheepishly admitted, muffled by her mouth being unconsciously pressed against Maxwell's shoulder. Noticing this, he tried to shake the young Luddite off, but her ever-tighter clinging as a result caused him to give up.

Cleanly jolted from his previous misgivings, Arrowhead said, "Yeah, I've noticed it all the years I've known you. I- I still don't get it, though. Why lightning? Why that? It can't be the decibel count in isolation... heck, you yell enough for both of us."

"Plants aren't inclined to mmmfffmfmfph, mmfph mphfh," she suggested through her Max-pillow.

"Uh... I guess not," he acknowledged with a quick, stealthy eye-roll. "But hey... would it cheer you up to remember that lightning comes only with rainclouds, and we are all still parched?"

She poked her head out entirely, grinned, looked up and around the clumping cumulonimbus clusters in the sky, and replied, "It might."


	54. Chapter 54

**Author's note: I've continually spaced mentioning it, but I was at Sega of America's 2014 Sonic Boom convention in New York City last weekend. From my short time spent playing each demo and watching the trailers and the cast's script read-throughs, I'm most excited for the show, but certainly nothing shown off looks "bad" in any measure. Most importantly to me, it's a new canon and universe opening up - surely ripe for interesting fanfics to read - and we haven't gotten one in a while.**

After such an uncomfortably long stretch without anything to drink, a nice, light sprinkling of rain was very welcome for the animals. At first, they simply let the drops fall on them and opened their mouths opportunistically upward, but occasionally they would cup their hands together to accumulate a sizable gulp-ful of it.

"Wow," Arrowhead chirped between hand-cup-fuls of clear, 7-pH goodness, "I mean, I do remember hearing that the clouds could have something in store down the road, but this really is nice." Being a toad, he looked quite at home in the rain.

Maxwell did seem a little uncomfortable with the downpour after the initial surprise of it, quickly retracting his wings. Jewel and Arrowhead, however, were more appreciative. Even Star had apparently been constructed in a manner accounting for such variables of precipitation, as it was only enjoying getting clean, the thin and gnarling streaks of caked-on dirt washing off; Paint didn't suppose it had had any sort of bath recently. Enjoying the rain very much herself, she slowly rotated and stretched her arms, legs, torso, and neck to expose as much of her surface area as possible to the water. She then simply lay down stomach-up on the yellowed grass, pleased with the situation and sensation to an extent that bordered on ecstasy.

Something was off, though, and Arrowhead was fit to mention it: "Heyyy... this is some rain. It can't have just gotten like this for us, right?"

"Well," Paint giggled quietly as the sharper blades of her fur mingled fluidly with their soil-bound cousins, "we _are_ pretty important. Our arrival rings in a new era, Arrow, one of noble crusading for a noble cause!"_  
_

"Uh, huh, sure," he said. "What I mean is, if _this_ is how the weather gets over here, how do you figure the plant life's so far on the malnourished, beaten-down side?"

"Hmm..." She sat up and puzzled in tandem with him. "That's a good question." The plant life's egregiously poor health did seem to lie at odds with the current weather.

_Kapow__!_ Another thunderclap shook them to their bones, and despite having her legs and rear end on the ground, she seemed to jump a foot in the air with it. "Aaaagh! ...Yeah, a good question. Hmmm, I'd like to blame these cascades of electric fury for the general sparseness of vibrant plant life around here, but unfortunately, I don't think most short-stature plants share my... mild disinterest in lightning."

She stood all the way up, stretched once more for good measure, and began to investigate the surrounding ground, puzzled. It couldn't have been that it had all been trampled by something or someone; the grass didn't quite look flattened, and conversely it also wasn't vibrantly growing back against any such compression. The damage appeared longer-lasting, too. Try as she might, though, she could not weasel out a cause.

Of course, she did not always have to be the one to. "Eewww!" Jewel cried from out of sight. "This is just horrible!"

Panicked, she rushed to his side to have a look at what was the matter. Nothing jumped out right away; he was just standing mum before the dried-out creek, which was a bit full of rainwater, and... therein lay the problem.

"This is disgusting," Maxwell spat. "Man, I can't imagine the stupidest, least-evolved plants out there growing in soil that's irrigated by sludge like _this_." He was spot-on: the advent of rainwater was unearthing a disgusting alternative to real water. It was black, not far from being opaque, and even greasy-looking in texture and consistency.

The resident botany expert nodded his smooth, dripping head and confirmed, "That's gotta be it. I have no idea how often it rains here - although I suspect the rates are similar to what we have back at home; I mean, w-we aren't _that_ far away, augh - but whenever it does, the plant life is reinfected by... by _this_."

"I feel just horrible," Jewel pouted. "Sure, the water feels nice on _us_, but if it hadn't happened... th-these plants would have a bit more of a chance for... ah..."

"Not much of one," Arrowhead contested darkly as he gazed without clear focus into the murky, tumultuous sky. "This is a serious, long-lasting issue in the soil here. I can tell. This river is... sick."

Paint came to her senses and into the moment, realizing that she had been sitting down amongst grass blades and miscellaneous weeds that were probably not wise to expose oneself to for too long. Panicking a little, she took rivulets of rainwater in her hands and brushed them across her fur with finger-claws extended, making sure to clean herself as thoroughly as possible. The pouring rain, fortunately, could do a bit of the work, and Arrowhead hopped over to pick a few lingering grass blades and leaves off of her back, scratching a little in the process.

"Whew, thanks!" she exhaled. Satisfied with her cleanliness, she relaxed, and so did he. "H-hey," she asked then, "why'd you stop? That felt good, heheh."

"Ahah, I'm sure... But maybe we should focus on finding somewhere to _escape_ the rain now; I- I think we've been out in this downpour for quite a while, and we have the opposite problem now from before: it shows no signs of quitting anytime soon."

"Good idea. Hrm... how about that?" She pointed out, on the same side of the creek as them, a moderately-angled tree, which, while not in the best of health itself, would give them a bit of welcome shelter if they could squeeze in underneath it. While it hosted few leaves and none in strong, colorful health, the area sheltered by its trunk could be thick enough for a few tween- and teen-aged animal bodies to occupy if they positioned themselves correctly. The old thing was grayed and sad in its old majesty, but it would have to be their benefactor this evening.

"Eh, I'll give it two and a half stars. Charming, but uneffective; would only recommend to thrifty consumers. Needs improvement. Whatever, we'll take it," Maxwell summarized tiredly and plodded over to it, unwilling to bare his wings to the rain for the walk over. The others joined him.

The firefly nestled himself in the craw of the tree, sitting face-up with his tail to the roots. He initially held his backpack across his chest, but when Arrowhead joined him, Maxwell moved the pack out of the way and suggested out loud, "Er, hey, Arrow, there's room right here," patting his chest again. Hearing him, the toad nodded and obediently curled up with his head on Maxwell's torso and his pack out from under the tree as well. After setting hers there, Paint shook the water out from her fur, leaving it frazzled but comfortably dry, and snuggled in against Arrowhead, her left rosy ear to his heartbeat. Cautiously, Jewel took the last successive position, but he noticed that there was a bit more room under the overhanging trunk. He walked out, grabbed everyone's packs along with his own, and placed them in the last remaining uncovered space, then returned to their safe spot, curling up with his head on Paint's stomach. With his head bobbing up and down slowly from her breathing in and out, he looked around and noticed the one remaining issue that had not yet been dealt with.

Star was still waiting patiently outside. There was no more room, nor would the diameter of the trunk have provided the bulky robot complete protection anyway, but Paint still apologized to it. "I'm sorry, Star. If you want, I'll leave if you can find a way to squeeze in! Plants love water, anyway..." It was a little hokey, sure, but she meant it.

The robot politely declined, giggling at the prospect of edging everyone else out to accommodate its giant metal hull. It sat down and looked at its friends patiently once more, as though asking if it was time for bed.

"Well" - she yawned with unexpected force and length - "you can wake me up if you change your mind, then! I'm ready for some shut-eye, if you guys don't mind..."

"Meh, we've got nothing else to do," Maxwell groaned. "Downpours like this are just useless when you expect to get anything done, and I _am_ mighty used-up..."

"I'm fine with that; it's gotten rather late, too," Arrowhead affirmed, and Jewel smiled softly.

"Then that's it," she concluded. "G'night, Star! Enjoy your sweet dreams about, uh, I don't know, erm, shooting ba... er, _not_ shooting bad guys, instead educating them through example on the merits of kindness and acceptance." Star whirred sure and began its power-down cycle.

Paint looked up for a quick second at her nearest companion, nuzzled Arrowhead affectionately with her head, kissed him on the stomach, and quickly drifted off.


	55. Chapter 55

Weary and increasingly confused, Paint set her large, rusty bucket down on the unfriendly, soggy ground. She groaned, rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to dislodge the building-up of painful lactic acid, and turned her head toward Cosmo, who was following patiently.

"Mom, I don't get it," she pouted. "Why can't you help me carry this thing? It's gotta weigh as much as I do, and it's so full, it's probably going to spill if I so much as shiver or sneeze out here. Why does your daughter have to do all of your work if you're perfectly capable of using your grown-woman arms yourself?"

Clouds enshrouded the area, seemingly interested more in isolating the two girls on their indefinite, weary trip than on leaning in for a nice look at the action. Everything in sight was, or was close to, grey, just not the same shade of it.

"But that's not true, Paint," the patient parent replied in her calm, impossibly warm voice. "I can't help you here, and I don't see how I'll ever be able to. You have to carry it yourself."

"It's rusting. How would you feel if your own daughter got tetanus right in front of you? Or what if it spills all over me and I contract some other horrible disease?"

"You'll be fine; it's just mud and you don't have any noticeable open sores. Now, come on and pick it up again. You've eaten your vegetables and gotten your sunlight, so you're a big, strong girl and you can do it. It's not too much farther."

"Some help you are," the junior Seedrian groaned and returned to her task. "Why do I- rrgh..." - she stubbed her toe on a rock and gritted her teeth with the blunt pain, but did not take another break - "why does it have to be mud anyway? I love the post-workout sweat of Mobius' crust as much as the next chick, but why that? What's the significance?"

"Paint, you chose this burden, what you would be transporting as well as where." Cosmo clearly recalled the infinitely obscured origins of this little journey.

"Riiiight... That tends to escape my immediate recollection. It was just that long ago, I gue- es- ess- e- _ACHOO_!" She wiped her nose on her arm, shivering with a bell curve of intensity, and stared miserably at her mother as the laborious transportation task continued.

"Paint, why didn't you put on some clothes if you knew it would be this cold outside?"

Her child was too tired and tetchy to make the effort to tell if that was motherly compassion, detached chiding, or both. "I dunno; I guess I don't think to. Why didn't you?" Paint shot back. Pure Seedrians were so mysterious, too - could the ability to comfortably withstand the cold naked while possessing only leaves instead of fur be added to their list of strange attributes?

"Because _I_ don't have to worry about falling ill."

"...Oh. Th-that's right... I keep forgetting you're... you're..." she stammered, made newly uncomfortable by her mother's current biological status. It was startling to remember that her mother was but a dybbuk, with her at the present hour only in some perplexing plane of reality.

"That's fine, sweetheart. Your father doesn't, and he was in very bad shape for a very long time. The increasing demands of his engineering have distracted him a bit, but I don't know if he'll ever get over me. It's foolish to believe I'll ever be returning to this world; he needs _you_."

"Whatever..." Paint dismissively spat at the ground, then recouped her determination for her ultimate goal and walked with a straight-up posture once more: "No, not whatever. My dad _does_ need me, and I may not understand this task I've been given, but darn it, I'm going to complete it right."

Her words, however, could not protect her from her body's actions: her right foot sunk into the boggy surface, leading the giant, overly full bucket to shake and release a small amount of its contents onto her side fur. She snarled unintelligibly at the circumstances; while she had long since forsaken any initial concern of being clean, missteps like this were frustrating. Letting out a quiet, directionless growl, she steadied the bucket in her arms and kept walking. She would reach the lake eventually, although when that long-awaited event could finally arrive was becoming more thickly shrouded in opaque fog than any of the two women's physical surroundings on that probably-afternoon.

"Paint, are you doing oka..." Cosmo began to ask sympathetically. Her still-frustrated daughter was not being very attentive, but did realize quickly that she could not hear her mother. Was she going deaf? Was this what that was like?

The answer was no. Instead, a flaming, red-hot meteorite was shuttling toward them, carrying with it a shrill screech that overpowered the pure plant's tranquil voice. Paint could not gather her thoughts enough to articulate her fear of it, and without warning it smacked itself down right in the center of her bucket. The rusty old metal thing burst into warping shards, and mud flew in every direction at painful speeds. Two disgusting sounds - those of the mud being lost and of the bucket forever leaving its intact form - rang out, and because Paint's eyes had instinctively shut, that was all she could experience for that horrible moment.

With the planet's mucus spotting every inch of Paint's fur in addition to the neighboring, barren ground and Cosmo, it still felt achingly foreign: neither her nor the substance wanted the other. Cosmo, of course, did not look any happier by a long stretch; her normally energetic, flushed green fronds and completely floral ears had been painted something ill.

Noticing the burning of her lungs from pure shock, Paint exhaled exasperatedly and turned wordlessly to her mother for some kind of help, with exhausted eyes singing a record-closing ballad of bitterness.

No response. "Mom..." she choked pitifully. "I want... I want..."

A response. Not one she would have wanted, though: Cosmo was making every effort to avert her eyes from her own daughter out of absolute disgust.

"Mom, please! ...I- I didn't mean to! It- it was an accident! Mom!" - sniff - "I'm sorry!"

Forever beyond the threshold of forgiveness, Cosmo trudged off the way she and Paint had come; she stepped silently over the jagged metal shards so that only caking bog matter, not blood, would coat the undersides of her bare feet. The younger Seedrian wanted nothing more than to follow her mother and be with her - obligations be cursed - but her legs would not budge, or rather would only budge in the wrong direction, and they made similar shard-evasive maneuvers.

Even her vocal cords had given up hope; she could only wheeze like a deflating, elderly beach ball too worn-out and tired to be played with. At this point she was nothing but a ghastly, ineffectual ball of emotions, and it was with this mentality that she awoke in the real world with a start.

It was startling to see her best friends all staring at her with concern smeared across their innocent faces, but that feeling could not be colored with embarrassment, only with an exhausted streak of relief.

"Paint, um... mind letting me go?" Arrowhead requested.

It was then that she realized her arms were clenching him firmly, keeping him from indulging his bewilderment and getting up as she was subjectively living her own nightmare while sweating all over him and squealing indiscriminately in real life.

"Oh. Oh! Ahaha... s-sure..." And she did. The situation was not symmetric: Jewel was also a little perturbed by her torment and was sitting a couple of feet away in the intended shelter created by the tree, although rain was no longer falling.

"...Uh... what was wrong with you?" Maxwell asked cautiously.

She breathed out and fished for the ideal response. "Er... erm... nothing. Bad dream. Nothing of concern. Augh..." - closing her eyes and then opening once more - "I'm fine."

"Alright... something about carrying something? I dunno, couldn't make much of it out..." the oldest member trailed off.

Star, who had risen and shone, tapped with the utmost of lightness on Jewel's shoulder - while also beeping quietly to make sure it had his attention - and gestured something tiny and inscrutable to him; perhaps the unassuming Jewel would be the best candidate to deliver a message to the weary sleeper.

The sematography did its job: Jewel did understand, so he silently pulled an apple out of his own pack as a friendly suggestion. Paint was pulled out of her funk immediately, beginning to salivate as she eagerly retrieved one of her own from her pack.

When they were done, had sufficiently stretched for the morning, and were in all other measures all ready to go, the travelers came up to the creek, which the animals - aside from Maxwell, who stared disgustedly at it while hovering over it - hesitated to attempt to leap over right away, though they probably could have. Star jumped to action: it made a friendly extending of its arms together, and so it carried Paint, Arrowhead, and Jewel over so they would not have to risk slipping up and being partially submerged in whatever strain of pollution had made its home in the "water".

"Thanks, buddy," Paint said, and she high-fived it, admittedly making sure not to touch its fouled-up legs.

The eastern part of Kattekara was a place functionally barren to living, sentient adventurers despite the presence of some objective landmarks, most of them copses and cliffs that some cartographer had decided they ought to christen with some kind of moniker because there had been nothing else to do and filling up a map is a lot of work. There were few towns, all of them tiny, and no cities anywhere in this region of the district; this would be a long stretch of walking without much hyphenation. In other words, there was no way around the mechanical expanse of walking, so they grinned and bore it like champions. The miles passed by like blinking eyelids, though; the work, while excessive by any normal measures, was made more reasonable by the fact that they possessed no physical load to carry beyond the backpacks they had had all along, and on top of this they _did_ have one of Paint's parents waiting distantly, lovingly on the other side of this whole thing.


	56. Chapter 56

**Author's note: I wrote a thousand freaking words of this chapter - it took at least two hours - that I had to rewrite the next day because it hadn't saved when I thought it had. _Always._ Make. Sure. You. Save. I can't stress that enough. Also, dang, get with the times and add auto-saving. 'S like my grandma manages this place.**

**Okay, I really am done after this: I found out mid-chapter that Tyson Stevens has passed away. He was the lead vocalist of Scary Kids Scaring Kids, a band I adored back in my freshman year of high school in 2009-2010. I was startled back then when they broke up, but now this... Gosh, R.I.P. Tyson.**

**Anyway. Getting back to business.**

"Color me unimpressed."

"Oh, come on, Max! It's gorgeous! It's refined! It's a lifeless embodiment of 'grayness' in every sense of the word! It's a postmodernist deconstruction of the unalienable tendency of corporate Mobius to streamline everything and reduce it to its functioning minimum!"

"It's a road."

While Arrowhead's response had been intended to question Paint's infatuation with the artistic implications of the first animal-made - maybe even human-made - environmental set-piece they had come across in at least a hundred miles, it inadvertently captured a different sort of appeal of the road to the group. They had certainly heard about them; Paint recalled even having read about them and seen old pictures of them. This was the first time, however, that they had seen a road, or anything else consciously constructed of this scale, in three dimensions with their own eyes.

The dirt and grass by the road's side was not enough experience, it seemed. Eager to stop only admiring and try it on for size herself, Paint lowered herself to a squat and sprang onto it, landing with both feet slamming down simultaneously. Instantly she winced: the hard, unforgiving surface of the road disagreed with her rough but sensitive foot pads.

She looked back at them, apparently cluing them in that it was now okay for them to try it out. Indeed, as though she had given them permission - or been their canary - the others timidly looked both ways and then stepped onto the asphalt themselves. Possessing a tough exterior - physically, of course - culminating in his trusty exoskeleton, Maxwell quickly fluttered up and then down onto the pavement. Only Star was un-reactive to the surface.

"Hey, guys," Jewel noticed out loud, "what are these yellow lines in the middle of it for?"

Arrowhead answered, calling upon the extremities of his early knowledge of the outside world, from old books and things. "Hmm... well, they separate the two lanes for vehicles. I know there's some distinction in having them be dashed like this, instead of just complete lines, but I can't remember what it means."

But Jewel had another question poised for him: "What side do they drive on?"

"I... I don't remember. The right, I think?"

"...I wonder if there's a... a sign or something around, something that points a certain way so the drivers can see it."

Paint beamed at Jewel's good idea and started scoping out for one. As the canopy of forest on each side of the road removed the need to peruse there, this search didn't take long.

"Hey, _there_'s a sign!" she cried out, lunging out with one arm to their right to point it out. "Way off in the distance, but let's check it out!" The sun was still performing its climb up to its noon-perch and technically lay in their path, but realistically would not constitute any obstacle to proper eyesight: noon was approaching.

Barely having been able to see it at the start, they quickly found that it was indeed on the south - the road's right side - and was indeed pointing its friendly, shiny green face right at them. Picking up the semblance of some sensible, neat white lettering on it, they continued running over to it until they were beside the thing. It was larger up close than it had first come off, one and a half times as tall as any of them plus the height of the rusty, square-pillar stakes that anchored it to the soft ground.

They could also see the lettering clearly now: it hosted the names of a few Adagestlian cities and their respective distances from the current location along this quiet road - at least here it was quiet. Paint read them aloud:

"_Yakhtanmantannji: 96 miles_. Hey, that doesn't sound like an Echidna name! 'Least I don't think so. Weird. Either way, I wonder what it means?"

"In Mobian it means 'too darn far'," Maxwell tartly answered. "Let's see if we can hop a ride here or something, if someone ever comes along."

"Of course; I was thinking the same thing!" she responded. "Anyway, the next one's... _Electric City: 319 miles_. Heeeeyyyy... maybe we can get a ride there to boot!"

"In your dreams, Paint. I swear, foxes really are mad."

"Aww, don't say that... But I must admit, I _am_ getting pretty jazzed up and crazy for this third option: _Namosstok, Central Province: 885 miles_! Y'know what that means?"

"That you're not sorry about how unrealistic your hitchhiking expectations are?" Maxwell continued curtly.

"...Yes," she admitted, "but also, it means we can finally use our toothed little artifact and unlock Morris' safe! _And_ we can figure out how we might be leaving Adagestli for Freedom! How do the high seas sound right about now, my darlings?"

Arrowhead interjected: "He's right. Namosstok is great, and I'm sure we'll love it when we eventually _do_ make it there, but it's not even in this province anymore. No one's gonna drive us all the way up there. It just isn't... logical."

At this point, she could only frown in defeat and quietly ask a follow-up with her stubby tails between her skinny legs. "Hmm... how do you hitchhike? The courtesies of this custom elude me, and I..."

"Are you asking about some kind of gesture for it? I have no idea, either," Arrowhead pondered, "but if we're going to maximize our chances, let's just keep walking and keep an eye out for it... Not on the pavement, though; that hurts." He looked down at the gravelly carpet, his eyes trailing it from the immediate to the distant, and frowned.

Only a few minutes of casual, idle silence had elapsed before they heard their first alien rumbling. Curious, all five turned back to see what was before them. It was a blue car - a rather old, dirty one, as was increasingly apparent as it approached them. Approaching them was bad, though. Bad. Not good.

"Hey! It's coming for us!" Arrowhead had to exclaim to his entranced comrades.

They all shook off their entrapment and came to their senses, jumping frantically off the road before it could hit them. Maxwell, Arrowhead, and Jewel landed gracefully in the thinning forest fringes, but Star tumbled clumsily into a rougher, drier patch of dirt - thankfully, though, it was only disoriented, in no way injured - and Paint, while in control at first, tumbled awkwardly into a briar patch, landing upside-down against the thicket as she dizzily had to watch the vehicle zoom by rudely.

"Hey, wait!" she tried to yell out, but it was drowned out by the driver's cry: "Outta da way, y'idiots!" His words - or, rather, their cadence - left her a bit intrigued: he clearly had places to be, of course, but there was a jagged yet somehow natural tartness to his voice. Completely understandable, of course - but it might just have been a different accent. People really were traveling far along this path, which provided her with a small amount of encouragement.

She kept this to herself, though, and peeled her body from the unfriendly bush as the others dusted themselves silently off and they kept walking, hoping to at least advance their distance toward their goal as much as possible before their savior finally arrived. This time, though, they made sure to stay a few feet from the road's edge, not right upon it, to be safe.

It would not be for another half-hour that the travelers, rendered weary once more from their falling hope and the glaring autumn sun, would finally meet this second pilot of the mythical metal beast. When this person did come, though, they were sure to be prepared; they waved vigorously and shouted encouragingly, that he or she might only spare a pittance of generosity and pick them up. Even Star whistled shrilly for good measure.

This time, it was a shiny, responsible truck. Its driver noticed them right away, slowing down comfortably to match. When it pulled up beside them, the door on the right slid open. A rugged female wolf - probably in her thirties - was in the passenger seat and greeted them, while a male of similar demographics was driving.

"Anything I can do for you kids?" she asked.

"Hi! We're on a long journey, and we'd like to get t- to Yakhtanmant-tannji if at all possible, and we were wondering if you might be able to... to..." Arrowhead recited, slipping up at the last minute.

"Need a ride?" the woman helpfully filled in before answering her own suggestion. "Of course! We're driving all the way to Electric City, but I don't see why we can't take you to Yakhtanmantannji. I must say, we've never encountered any hitchhikers before, so I'm not sure exactly how this is supposed to work..." She flicked the dirty blades of purple hair that slouched over her forehead and grinned sweetly at them.

"Yes! That's it," he exhaled, relieved. "Actually, if you're already going to Electric City, well..."

"Well, then we'll just get to spend a little more time with you kids!" She then diverted her gaze a few degrees to make sure she was addressing the entire group: "Are all of you coming?"

"Yup! All of us!" Paint yipped, excited at the rare opportunity.

Jewel stared at the vehicle, specifically the cab, and quietly asked, "Paint, are you sure...?"

"Of course, Jewel!" she retorted loudly. "There'll be room for all of us, right?"

The passenger wolf made an exaggerated effort to shift her seat forward, but could not budge it beyond a couple of puny inches. Defeatedly, she answered, "Yeah, of course! You'll just have to get in the trailer through the back, though. There's no room up here, and I can't let you in through the front. Here - I'll help."

"No room, huh? Weird," Arrowhead murmured at Paint.

"Eh, the design isn't perfect to accommodate groups," she admitted, "but it does its job, I wager."

Before long, the woman had opened up the back and lowered a utility ramp for them to climb up into it. It was a dusty, elderly, and dark interior with only a window up to the cab for light - but perfectly secure-looking, of course. Lots of cardboard boxes were stacked around, leaving only about as much room for the adventurers as would be needed. She eyed Star and said to Paint, "Hey, he's a big guy. We've got lots of fragile items in those boxes we've got to deliver out to our client, a giant retailer in Electric City, and we don't want them crushed or anything. Would you mind if I secured him into place in here so he doesn't crush anything?"

"Uh... sure!" Star looked a little dismayed at the prospect, so Paint soothed, "Come on; it'll only be a few hours. Once we're out in Electric City, you can stretch all ya like. We all will. In the meantime, we can still talk; you'll just have to be a little more expressive with your actual voice."

The robot shrugged and acquiesced; the woman latched it into place with heavy clamps that dotted the interior and looked to have been intended for long, thin goods that were not to be jostled around. Everyone else piled in the trailer as well. Maxwell was the last of them; he sniffed the outside air for the temporarily last time and then fluttered in, too. Nodding, the woman grunted while raising and latching the door. The adventurers were left without a great deal of sunlight, but Paint knew that because she had been so richly permeated by the sun's waves for so long, she would be fine for energy for a while.

The wolf climbed in the front and slammed her passenger door. She and her male counterpart looked back through the window to see if the travelers were okay, then - upon seeing a grinning Paint's thumbs-up, smiled sheepishly and nodded at the driver. He turned the ignition and the truck kicked slowly but surely into motion. They made no attempts at idle conversation for the time being.

The non-robotic passengers in the back slowly settled in, finding comfortable spots among the boxes. Paint sat down next to Star, then thought of something. She got up and asked through the window, "Hey, miss?"

"Yeah?" the passenger said while the driver did not look back or flinch.

"When do you think we're gonna get to Electric City?" Paint ventured. "Y'know, just so we've got a time estimate to occupy ourselves with."

"Where?" she answered.

Paint looked around in confusion at her fellow travelers, who didn't seem to get it, either.

The wolf expanded her reply: "You really are stupid, aren't you?"


	57. Chapter 57

**Author's note: Man, was this ever a while without updating! I... can't really give any single event that kept me from writing, unfortunately; I've just spent nearly every day with far too little sleep to be creative at all. Oh, and I'm 20 now. There's that.**

After running a few fingers through her bangs and readjusting her hair, the passenger wolf callously said, "Electric City? Hah! You're not going to Electric City. You're not even going to Yakhtanmantannji."

Jewel emitted a small peep, but could not form a coherent word through his pathetic trembling and squealing. With one arm around his buddy, Maxwell patted him on the shoulder as he stormily asked, "Then where _are_ we going? Tell me."

"You want to know where you're going? I can tell you that much. You're going to work."

"Explain more." Through the dark, his eyes were piercing in their focus on the once-hopeful adventurers' loathsome kidnapper. It would not have been surprising for his tail to light up a blazing red, but it stayed dimmed all the same.

The woman's reply was smug and gladdened. "Okay, I will.

"My little brother Nettle and I are the joint operators of a diamond mine. We've been involved with spotty things for a while now, I guess. This was always mostly on our own, though - petty things, nothing too destructive. Of course, as time went on, employment made more sense as a next step. We haven't been going on for long - it can't have been more than a couple months, actually - but we've learned a lot, and we even have some other workers just like you kids. Really got lucky finding you way out here; we had to get much closer to little towns dotted around to pick up our other workers. Of course, every one of them's been just as dumb as you, so don't feel too bad about yourself. A ride back home, a ride to a nearby restaurant to meet friends, a ride in a plain old cool-looking truck like this... I forget all our excuses. Whatever. They sure don't matter now.

"Anyway, this mine: that's where you'll be working. It's tough stuff; I sure wouldn't want to spend too much time risking injuries doing it myself, and neither would Nettle here. You dig this stuff up, whittle it down, and shine it up for selling. It's no Chaos Emeralds, but people like this stuff. _We_, naturally, handle the charismatic part, the part that actually involves conversing with the outside world: we sell it. We wouldn't be averse to giving you kids shares of the bring-ins, but there's nothing to spend it on out here; we figure that's just factored into your room and board, instead.

"Injuries happen. It's probably for both of our good that you don't get injured. I'm sure that's self-explanatory. ...Oh, and before you ask, yeah, there are laws on the books against stuff like this, sure, but those don't apply way out here, where no one will ever bother to look for crime. We're not above the law; we're just a long, long way away from it."

The cold, light shadows of Arrowhead's profile were visible against the darkness. He was marked by an eerie opacity and calm of the face and voice as he asked one more question: "...When are you going to let us go?"

"Let you go?" the wolf ridiculed. "We don't have any plans for that. You're gonna be working for a very, very long time, I can tell you that much. You'll probably still be with us ten years from now, if business keeps up and stuff. If something happens to _us_... well, I think we'll probably have new management found in advance by then. They'll take care of you. If something happens to _you_, well, then your journey will be over quicker."

Paint felt absolutely no emotional tugs, too buried by shock to react. That was it. They were powerless here. They would be working in these people's diamond mine for the rest of their predicted lives.

Without so much as a dramatic gulp, Arrowhead turned his eyes down and performed a short, slow nod to hear the wolf's words. Paint could not look away from her best friend, the boy who had years ago taken her in as his friend when she had had nothing else to lean on, slowly absorbing the horrific proclamation about the rest of their foreseeable lives - this process was perhaps the most frightening element of all. He shivered a little bit, but otherwise did not move at all.

The entire population of the motorized jail was not so lucky. Before she could sit down with Arrowhead and wait until the reaction hit, Jewel's first peeps of fear rained easily through her foggy shock.

"W-we're never getting out. We're not. Never." He rocked forward and backward, whiskers crinkling ungracefully against his rough, furry knees. "We're going to be working for them until we die."

The single, projected square of sunlight from the cab's windshield, which scattered anarchically across the messy, populated interior of the trailer, was enough to spin a hateful luster on Jewel's tears. His face would not show itself in the light, but his hopeless grief was all too known, as was the fact that he did not have the stoic strength to objectify it away like Arrowhead did. With both arms wrapped around his yellow-bellied and yellow-brown knees, he had not even the drive to hug Maxwell for a bit of comfort.

A familiar feeling was in the air: a rumbling, hateful beast reared its head deep inside the fiery fox's chest. She lurched up against the rumbling of the great, conniving vehicle on its trail to oblivion - standing without fear despite canids' general aversion to being upright in vehicles - and growled with an immense, deep, smoldering fury at the two wolves. "_LET US GO. NOW._"

"No." It could easily have been made taunting, but that would have been too much effort for a debacle so easy to dissipate.

"_ON YOUR LIVES._" Her voice was at a violent, threatening rumble and both tails flitted back and forth like the first domino flames of a forest fire.

"What? I don't understand. You seemed like a clever girl - but we're the ones driving and you cannot get up here."

Coming from some cruel, sacrificial wellspring, Paint suddenly rushed to the right side of the truck and began shoving dramatically in a rash, rushed attempt to get the truck rocking from side to side on the road, or at least make it look like it would. Her friends were confused and a little frightened by this sudden display.

She explained in one-hundred-percent unequivocal terms her intention to the drivers. "_DO IT OR YOU'RE COMING DOWN WITH US._"

She was bluffing. She hoped she was, anyway. Her strength could be sufficient to tumble the vehicle, and it had to have been traveling over a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour - hardly enough to break the law on a planet like this but easily enough for reckless tragedy. She would not actually instigate the death or severe injury of everyone aboard just for a point like this, to get exactly what she wanted - what Jewel needed - right at the moment. Yet that seemed to be exactly the process she was undertaking.

"Paint, w-what are you do-oing?" Arrowhead cried out quietly to his deranged best friend, still shaking pathetically. Star, who had scarcely struggled against its bindings the entire time, whistled nervously at her. Neither would receive any response.

Perhaps for the better, the act was instantaneously cut short. The woman wolf quickly reached into some out-of-sight compartment and pulled out a grime-coated pistol, aiming it straight through the window grid at Paint's head and then waving it around demonstratively at everyone else's. A point needed to be made, and this was the perfect device to do it.

"Stop it, right now."

Paint's face turned ghostly white, and her body slumped off and away from the wall: two helpings of surrender for an occasion completely deserving of it.

"Now stay seated."

The wolf angled her head comfortably back around to the road to come, and the ride was much quieter after that. No one could venture anything resembling concentrated conversation for a long time.

The lack of any activity at all allowed the shock to truly set in for Paint: They were captured. There was no immediate route of escape at all, and judging by the rough, clumsy preparedness of the duo up front, there might never be, certainly not anytime soon. Perhaps they really would be killed, by the sheer volume of labor if not by something worse, before they could ever meet Tails, before they could ever find out about Morris' vault, before Arrowhead could ever call his mother, before they could ever regroup with Solakku, before Paint could replace Amethyst's violin - before life could ever begin again. It was a maddening situation best solved by sleeping off one's in-the-moment irrationality, but no sleep could be had. There was a scalding degree of anxiety in the air, and that would not change anytime soon.

Eventually, because Jewel had not made any such move himself, Maxwell scooched over to Jewel and wrapped one arm around his shoulder for a sense of protection. Without turning to Paint, he quietly snarled, "Jewel, I can swear to you one thing. We will escape from... from _this_. Count on it." When Maxwell's eyes eventually did happen to flitter around and meet Paint's, they were angry and uninterested in keeping up the interaction. Yet she took the gaze only as determination to extend her living energy to the tips of her hairs and leaves in every last sacred drop of hope. While the body still hangs on, hope can never die.


	58. Chapter 58

**Author's note: Hey, hey! Long chapter! Very long chapter! My first that's been three thousand words! Yes!**

**To expand on this, I spent a very long time pondering how best to tell this story without coming off as cheap or unattached. It was especially difficult to write in the extended, passionate bursts in which I do my best work because I was so repeatedly and painfully stricken with distractions: nagging from my parents, trivial project-intermediate web design assignments, nagging from my parents... yeah, it mainly was their fault. Good riddance. I'm twenty years old; I should be able to make my own decisions about my academic and social life at this point.**

**Anyway, I don't mean to sour the mood too much. Enjoy this chapter, and good night.**

All arousals from sleep are not equal. It is perhaps most agreeable to wake up over the course of two or three false springs of alertness followed by full awakening, punctuated by a leisurely stretch and then beginning to go about one's business. Less pleasant, but still entirely acceptable, is to be awakened by someone's kind words, then by someone's rough words, and then by a physical shove.

Unfortunately, it had been long foregone that the adventurers might be subject to any reliable kind of pleasure here. Instead, the animals were simply pulled off the truck impatiently by their legs, set free willingly once they began to protest because that was also fast and easy. This was how Paint woke up with a rough headache and a couple of mild bruises from the bumpy bus ride propped up against hard objects. Star, meanwhile, was being lowered carefully by Nettle and a stone-faced teenage weasel boy. It was the female wolf who had been pulling them out of their prison one by one, moving on once each animal had his or her bottom planted on the ground and was ready to be spoken to.

Paint looked around nervously, observing the surroundings to find out where they might be spending their time. The sun was setting; the mostly deciduous trees were dark and sad against it. The limited remaining sunlight did, however, evince a few features of the local landscape. It was a hilly area; they had arrived near the foot of a craggy, crumbling mountain, not more than thirty meters tall, that was typical of the landscape but with a few obvious entrances to mines. The land was austere in its decoration, with nothing friendly to invite workers outward had they not been unobstructed by the tall barbed-wire fences.

Within the camp, there were only a few old buildings, the largest of them being a small warehouse near the foot of the highlighted mountain. Trails connected them in efficient pathways, but these appeared to have been created over time by Mobian feet; the only paved road was the small stretch leading through the armored gate and out to freedom - the concept _and_ the continent, though the two were naturally intertwined for Paint. She saw a few other workers of various ages sitting with backs pressed against the side of one small structure, talking and holding nearly emptied bowls of some kind. Not much of anyone else was out, though. Instead, she remembered to take notice of her own buddies.

Her animal companions were all right there, safe for the moment, but Star was being led away in defeat. She whimpered and got up with some intention of protesting, but heard a clear and threatening cough of communication. Her head turned and came to find a light pink hedgehog girl pointing a rifle at her. Paint was too tired and worn down to even be afraid at this point, but obediently sank back down into a cross-legged position anyway, her flushed and frustrated face in her hands.

This little warden-in-training frowned apologetically. She lowered the gun to an empty patch of dirt, then widened her eyes, making sure Paint's attention was had, and pulled the trigger. Paint had no time to flinch and recount her short life - but it clicked harmlessly. She sent out a quick smile to confirm the gesture of friendship, but promptly reverted to her threatening, authoritative pose once the wolves had their eyes on her once more.

It was time for the female wolf to give instructions. "Okay, kids, you got lucky. Work's up for the day, and while you may have also arrived too late for dinner, you can wait for breakfast just fine." Paint sighed - this might normally have been more of a consolation, but she was more famished than tired. Oh, well.

"Where will we be lodging tonight, then?" Arrowhead asked.

"You have separate bunkers. The girls' one is over there, and the boys' one there." She pointed with practiced movements to two drab, dirty lodges a good distance apart - hundreds of meters, surely - and positioned slightly in front of the warehouse but at opposite sides of it.

"You're... s-splitting us up?" Jewel confirmed.

"Oh, you'll be able to see the girl plenty, little guy. You'll be fairly close to each other, doing the same work, during the workday, and you can even socialize during your designated meal times - we'll be supervising you all the while to make sure you're safe and sound. Not so bad, huh? As long as you behave, anyway."

"Awww..." Paint pleaded, unsatisfied, "why enforce a division based on reproductive organs and antiquated societal roles? We're a bunch. We don't _get_ separated."

"Nice try, kid. I'm sure you can make new friends - and they'll still have each other." She ran three fingers through her bangs and exhaled in exasperation. "You'll be here for quite a long time, miss, so if I were- what's your name, anyway?"

This partition did not sit right with the only girl in the closely woven group, so neither did she: she tensed up and hugged both knees, staring hotly at the woman. "I'm Paint the Seedrian-Fox, which means I can be counted among one species whose hearts never forgive and one whose brains never forget. Hmph." She let her legs slip down across the flattened, dismayed grass blades and weeds, crossed her arms, and turned her face away in pouting.

"'Seed-...ian'? ...Not ringing a bell, sorry. Must've slept through that day in biology class - wouldn't have been the only time. Though it sounds like whatever critters those are sure would explain your... your _colorful_ coat and stuff. Weird. Oh, and I'm Nisaya. I ever tell you that?"

"Must've kinda flown by me somewhere. Purple _is_ near the end of the spectrum our eyes aren't keen with, aren't inclined to... pay much mind to."

Nisaya saw the implicit challenge and took it. "You know, I think you're right. Good thing the other two secondary colors shine out bright and clear. Easy to keep your eye on."

Their eyes narrowed at each other. Uncomfortable with the situation from both the current conflict and lacking crucial knowledge, Arrowhead interrupted it: "Um... wh-what are you going to do with Star?"

"Star?" She stared blankly and without interest at the toad. "Uh... I don't think we'll be doing anything with the stars. What do you mean?"

"The robot. That's its name."

"Oh! It's... with us now." The ambiguous words slammed down, cold, stony, and full of malice.

Paint's stomach squirmed sickly, and she asked, "W-w-what does _that_ mean?"

Nisaya scratched the back of her head and ceded, "Dunno yet. We've never had a robot or anything before. Who knows - might be interesting. Looks like a nice, obedient little thing. I bet it wouldn't do us a bit of harm."

Paint could only groan; Star was safe for the time being but nothing more could be known about it. Would it be a dignified if not high-ranking or skilled worker for them? Would it be a degraded slave? Would it be dashed to functional bits beyond what Amethyst had ever imagined? It was torturous to wonder aimlessly about the goings-on of her little Star.

But that could not be the concern right now. The wolf circled her four new captives to enforce authority as she considered what else she might tell them before whisking them off. Her subordinate was standing far from at attention, but Nisaya tapped her roughly on the shoulder and she fell in line. They then were both circling, like a frenzied shark and its timid, questioning child on their first time meeting a real-life school of fish.

Meanwhile, no one on the inside of the circle was quite sure what to think, beyond their obvious and reasonable, yet frustratingly vague and unverified, sense of nervousness. Arrowhead leaned a bit forward and stretched his webbed toes, one eye trained on the woman who, despite being technically unarmed, seemed much more dangerous. Jewel huddled with Maxwell, who - despite a small amount of resistance until he realized just how much the boy needed it - leaned a protective arm around his sidekick's shoulder. Maxwell's wings slowly escaped from their shell, only a few centimeters over the course of a grating, silent minute, until he realized what they were doing and they stopped. It was an odd instinct, but perhaps not an entirely unwarranted one. Nisaya did not appear to see it.

It was then that the crafty fox noticed the sorrow on the hedgehog's face as she was doing her job as an instigator of discipline and fear. Perhaps it was time for something to lighten the mood.

"Hey, Nisaya," she called out playfully and with a wiry grin.

"What is it?" The woman didn't know what to expect for this girl.

"Sorry for my undue impatience, but when am I gonna get to _leaf_?"

Bewildered, Nisaya stared askance at her and clumsily replied, "Uhhhh... when I think of how else to best instill a proper work spirit in you kids for the night. It is getting late, I guess..."

"No, I know it's _bark_; I'm a-_green_ with you. I'm just _root_ing for this to be done soon, since I'm not _frond_ of it, so perhaps we could _branch_ out and end up between our respective _cell walls_?"

"Terrible," Nisaya muttered, unfazed.

The girl snickered in spite of herself at this strange new arrival's vacuous puns about her own kingdom. Arrowhead let her off with an eye-roll likely unrelated to his ability to have come up with more sophisticated botanical jokes, and even Jewel smiled - if only out of kindness - but Maxwell, who didn't see the point in any respect, loudly face-palmed and exhaled. Superficially, however, he could not have done anything more to support her: he had shown that he too was getting antsy.

Encouraged, Paint decided to jump kingdoms. She beamed, leaned a few degrees toward Maxwell - but still clearly loud enough for the verbal corn to emanate to the ears of everyone else involved - and added, "Or maybe not, Max. I dunno, I think this place is _glowing_ on me. You couldn't cut me away from it with tee_th-or-ax_e. I I think I'll enjoy the girls' _wing_ of this place, even if staying with you guys won't _fly_."_  
_

Paint heard more giggles leaking out from the circle behind her, drowning out the increased disgust on Maxwell's end. But something different had happened this time: Paint had gotten Nisaya's attention.

She slowed to a stop, and the hedgehog girl stopped as well to keep a circumference of pi radians on each side of her. The girl looked at her superior with something between impending solitary rebellion and pure uneasiness.

"Interesting puns, Paint," Nisaya spoke slowly. "I really hope you're serious about getting accustomed here, because it seems that you're a little _too_ creative. _Wing_, _fly _\- I can't ignore compelling bits like that. Your friend here has an... ability that the rest of you don't, and we can't have him fluttering off to get us shut down. Good thing that's easy to fix." Without warning, she wrapped her left arm firmly around Maxwell's torso. He instantly writhed back and forth to escape, but it was too late. The woman decided on an action that would instantly back up whatever pretense she had established thus far of coldness of the heart and vigor of the body. With her free hand, she grabbed Maxwell's delicate, exposed right wing at its base near his shoulder and - with almost no difficulty - snapped it.

He yelped out in hideous, excruciating pain and collapsed in a broken heap. He heaved slowly back and forth, unable to do anything in response but lie still without exercising the nearby muscles and cry.

"Max!" Arrowhead and Paint shrieked in ugly despair.

Jewel could not speak at first as he watched his best friend reduced to something pathetic; he only whimpered as he looked over the injury and held his buddy's hand. Swiveling his head rapidly around to Nisaya, he hatefully screeched out, "_WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!_"

"Oh, he'll be fine, probably. I've already said, an escapee would be kind of a liability, but we can't have him unable to mine, either." She shrugged, uncaring.

No one else was having it. "Are you out of your mind?!" Arrowhead shouted. "How could this possibly be a responsible idea?!"

"I've made my case, toad. I can try patching up the wound if that'll make you feel better, but-"

"No, I don't think so; you've done enough. This is unbelievable," he spit in absolute disgust. He cast the woman out of his mind and he and Jewel tenderly picked the boy up. Maxwell was curled up and shivering, yet at the same time stiff in his crippling primal fear of moving a muscle. As they rotated him around to walk over to the boys' dorm, Paint caught that the broken joint was bleeding.

The worst possible course of action would be for them to drop him somehow, so she scampered on to help them along, but Maxwell's eye found her a few steps ahead. "N-no..." he growled irascibly, not removing his eye from her for a second.

She slowed to a halt, confused at the non-acceptance of her gesture of help.

"I think you've done enough here," Arrowhead curtly explained. He looked back at Maxwell, tenderness across his face once more.

As she watched the boy who seemed to have become her enemy once again be carried off from the heat of the war, she collapsed herself. The guilt was all-consuming. She had done it. Her stupid, stubborn, out-of-place sense of humor was normally just corny and easy to laugh off, but now it had inflicted a devastating injury on someone she loved. She felt like a weed, a venomous vine that had slyly crept along and woven its way around the friendly den of a few chipper little animals, and all for instinct. The darkening sky soaked up the vibrant colors from her fur and left greys and blacks that matched the sickening shades that drenched her heart. Like Maxwell, but with a wound only emotional, she could only lie there helplessly and cry.

Her despondency barely allowed her to notice Nisaya walking over to her young assistant and asking, "Can you take her back to the lodge?" The girl nodded and began a slow march to meet Paint where she lay hopeless and broken on the grass, and Nisaya strode away satisfied, presumably to administrative duties with her brother and Baaritch-knew-what with Star. It was all so overwhelming, so terrifying, so crushing.

Once the woman was out of audible range, the girl quickly completed her walk to Paint's side and knelt down beside her. Unsure of how the day could possibly get worse, Paint tensed up; the tips of her grassy coat felt ready to lash out in defense. But they would not need to: she felt a warm, soothing weight on her back. The girl had placed her arm around Paint. This wasn't condescension; this was reaffirmation that she was not a cruel minion, but a friend.

"It's okay, Paint."

Paint sniffed and timidly looked up.

The girl smiled. "You didn't even know me, and you were just trying to make me feel better. I appreciate that."

She stared, then gestured with her eyes toward the triad of boys long off in the distance by this point. This communicated the necessary objection to the girl's goodwill.

Of course, she did not accept the objection, and insisted: "It was just a fluke. I'm surprised she didn't think of it earlier - or I would be if she were a little brighter. Don't feel bad about it. They're wrong to blame you."

This Paint could not accept; she squeezed her eyes shut tight and wept once more. The new girl nudged her to get up, with which she complied - prefect's orders. They walked toward their own bunker now, quietly. The girl's warm, comforting arm never left Paint's torso, which admittedly did make the journey easier. She needed someone there.

When they finally reached the small, shabby building that smelled on the outside vaguely like metal and vomit, she stopped Paint before pushing the door open.

"Hey."

The hybrid girl looked up with a purity of devotion to answer her new friend's call.

"He'll be fine. Trust me on this one."

Paint winced at the memory and could not quickly reason out how this might be the case, but she sighed and wearily set the worry aside for the time being.

"Oh, and by the way," the girl added as she reflexively scratched her pink quills. "My name's Alice."


	59. Chapter 59

**Author's note: You know what absolutely _doesn't_** **help during finals? Your parents seizing every available opportunity – and creating several opportunities of their own – to lecture you about how much of a failure you are and how worried they are about you. I understand that there is, in my case, some – _some_ – reason to feel this way, but I do need to be left alone somewhat to work at my best. That's how I've always been, and they've never known any different.**

***sigh* Okay, too much real life, I know. Anyway, the semester, as of yesterday with my last submitted project for a web design class, is finally done, so I'll finally be coming into respectable allotments of time to work for a little while. Here we are again with Paint meeting her cabin-mates; hope you enjoy. This one's long again! :D**

Paint was just about all worn out on reflexive, hesitating fear and anxiety for the day, and it had been taking quite a bit out of her to stress about what – who – could be waiting inside the bunker Alice would open up. Captivity tends to make people irritable, bitter, and wholly hostile, right? She assumed as much. All she could do for the time being, up to the very moment Alice creaked the sad door, which could not have wanted to be there any more than they did, open to expose its contents to Paint and Paint to its contents.

The girls inside were sitting upright in their cots – old, industrial-grade things. In fact, the bed-frames matched the dirty, cracked interior of the bunker, adorned only with a few old tic-tac-toe games and impromptu word searches, some of it all fading away into the passing weeks.

Luckily, the girls themselves were not so derelict and obsolete in their mannerisms. They were at first awash in their own impenetrable conversations on topics Paint was too tired to hope to discern, but all of this immediately ceased when she became the new focus of interest. Several pairs of curious eyes lasered at the new sister in the workforce, and she met them with a washed-up, shivering smile.

"Hey, guys, this is Paint," Alice sighed out at them all. "Be nice to her, okay? I mean, I trust you guys, but she's had a rough day – even aside from… you know, being picked up."

"Hi, Paint!"

"Hello."

"Pleasure."

"You're _adorable_! Aww, I'm glad we get to keep her already!"

"H-h-h-hi, guys," she stammered weakly as she scanned around the shabby space. A sprig of guilt stabbed her as she realized this constituted unfriendly ignoring of her new roommates, but it didn't last long. "Um… can I… uh…"

Alice instinctively waved for Paint to sleep with her, but one of the girls, a mink with a dark grey, scraggly coat, was more eager to accommodate the new friend. She pulled the shape of an inviting corner into her thin, ratty blanket, scooted over a few inches, and patted the resulting space expectantly. Still warm – that was something, right? Paint looked at her, a bit dazed and unresponsive, so the girl hopped right up and took her hand, then returned with her new bunkmate to the cot.

From here, she was able to get a good look at and concentrate on her new friends. Who were they?

Now that she looked, one seemed to stand out from the others. She was a good couple of heads taller, with a white short-sleeved shirt and what looked like ridged blue trousers on. Her legs were obscured by the blanket, but her arms and neck were unusually, perhaps unhealthily, thick. The ruddy hair coating her head was long but unusually thin and fine, and her tan skin had no fur at all. This was a human!

"You're… you're a… a h-"

"A human? Yes, I am. Have you never seen one of us before?" Her voice was calm and non-combative; she had been the "Hello" speaker.

"Well… no, I haven't." Paint was getting interested now. Her ears twitched up accordingly to allocate all of their attention resources to the new information, and her tails began to instinctively flit back and forth, compelling her further to sit up all the way. "Can't say I've catalogued your species yet in my probably-metaphorical scrapbook."

"Hmm… well then, I suppose that isn't surprising," the human admitted. "There aren't a lot of us on Mobius, so it makes sense that we haven't occupied regions you've… wait a moment, where are you from, Paint?"

"Me? I'm from Sunny Clearing, Kattekara!"

Both the human and all of her nonhuman cabin-mates fed her back only blank looks, so she expanded: "Sunny Clearing? Isolated, though most assuredly quite lovable, village in the pit of the dusky Kattekaran forest expanse? Notable for… uh, its kind-hearted, diverse residents? Its strange ability to be surprisingly strict without a clearly defined government? …Me and my buddies? That Sunny Clearing?"

"Hmm. I haven't heard of it, sorry. I guess you must be a long way from home."

Paint sank down a little back into the bed. "Yeah…" But she couldn't resign herself from discussion yet; it was simply too novel. "So, uh... how'd you get onboard Nisaya and Nettle's Newborn National Nuisance?"

The human's face twisted uncomfortably, and Paint worried that she'd struck a nerve. "Ah, jeez… I- I'm sorry," she stammered, frustrated at having made the situation painful so quickly. "If you-"

"No, it's alright," the human replied calmly. "My family arrived from Earth only a few months ago – well, in Mobian time, that is. My parents wanted to come here to observe the cultures of this planet and, after spending enough time observing, report on them back to Earth. You have to remember, of course, that back there… Paint, am I boring you? I'm sorry; I don't mean to."

"What? No!" She shook off the glazed musk of her eyes and concentrated on the speaker. "I'm just… tidal-waved with information; this Earth stuff is beyond my pea-brained comprehension at the moment. But I love it! Keep going!" She was bearing a chipper grin and mildly shivering with excitement.

The human frowned and muttered, "Oh. Well, there's not too much more to say. I wish I could give a more exciting account, but I was just… I was just out for a walk by myself while they were writing, doing data entry, something like that. I'm taller than them; they wouldn't have been able to overpower me normally – and they didn't. I just… oh, if I hadn't been so generous and insisted on helping the two 'stranded travelers' unpack their oh-so-heavy generator from the trailer… My size doomed me."

"Oh, psh, that isn't so bad!" Paint assured. "Your generosity isn't a liability! I was just being a lazy slouch and… and I couldn't be a lazy slouch alone." With that, the painful memories came creeping back up, and she groaned silently, close to crying once more. Oh, she was quickly growing fond of her new friends, but that sure didn't help Maxwell, whom she desperately wanted to see as soon as she could – Jewel and Arrowhead, too.

Alice would not have this, so she sat up straighter from bed. "Paint, are you missing your family?"

This could be answered in a few ways, depending on the definitions of the term "family" and "missing", but somehow none were satisfying. "…Something like that."

"Well, we all are," Alice admitted. "That's why I'm glad we have each other right here – maybe that isn't so bad after all. I'd call a group hug on the spot, but we're too comfortable in bed, aren't we?"

Not so bad? An odd answer, but Paint didn't consider herself the type to be offended at quasi-slights like that – certainly not on behalf of anyone else.

"Fair point," Paint replied cautiously, expanding her audience to the whole group, "but friends like us are normally better acquainted, right? Well, I'm Paint the Seedrian-Fox, ethnic origin equal parts Seedrian and fox, gender female, eyes tired and almost unable to remain open, ah, yada yada…"

"Great idea!" cried the mink's voice beside her in bed, which had been the one to express gratitude to the forces of luck for placing something as cute as Paint into her path. Paint turned to face the girl, so she continued. "I'm Cayne. Like the sugar! You can remember it because I'm so sweet! Right? Right?"

"I'm Kitokcha," said another girl, a cornflower-blue cat who had been the second-last to greet Paint. She glowered disdainfully up at a sprig of curly hair that was playfully dancing about on her head – not unlike Paint's similar leafy patch – then licked one finger and sternly pressed the hair down.

"Chives," answered the girl who had first spoken up. She was a white dog with a large, bushy tail. She beamed warmly at Paint long enough to communicate a lack of disinterest, but suddenly looked out through the window and around the room as though trailing a coy, invisible pixie.

Finally it was the human's turn. "My name is Caroline – Caroline Schlosser."

"You have a last name? Truly exotic, heheh!" Paint remarked. "I wish _I_ had a last name; it'd go great on business cards. Matter of fact, I can start using one stylistically whenever the time comes. It's got a nice ring to it, even: _Paint_, uh,_ Prower_…"

"_Prower_?" Caroline gasped.

Strange. "Uh, yeah. That's my father's name: _Miles Prower_!" she explained. "In the absence of a committed boyfriend to love, I'm using his as a default." Alice briefly rolled her eyes with a knowing smirk.

"B-but I know that name!" Caroline shouted. "…I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but I know it!"

"…Really?"

"Yes! He goes by 'Tails', correct?"

Paint's eyes lit up wildly with excitement, and her ears perked right up in turn. "Yeah! That's my pops! Do you know him? I-I want to meet him! A-and that's what me and my buddies were doing way out in these lonely buffer zones! We were on a quest to find him!" She could hardly spit information out quickly enough, and hinged on Caroline's every syllable for the sweet nectar of information.

"Well, I know _of_ him. I've never met him personally. You seem quite excited, though, haha, so I can assure you that he's still very much alive and healthy, though I don't know where you could've had any information on him before." She leaned in so her dim brown eyes could have a closer look at Paint's facial features. "You do look a great deal like him, though, from the photographs and news broadcasts I've seen. It's rather a shame that I never took you for his daughter before…"

Paint was tittering and shivering all over to hear more precious information about her father, startling even Cayne, who had been about ready to squeeze her with delight out of the blue. The joy died down, however, when fox and mink both caught the glaze of sadness in human's eyes. The information had hit a little too close to home.

"Oh, don't worry!" Paint began to beg. "You'll be with your own mom and dad again! We'll find a way outta here before you can recite Baaritch's Fourth Prayer. After all, the leaders of this shindig are just a couple of clowns – w-with guns, ehehe – so I bet Arrowhead and I could easily draw something up. I mean, we think the best when together. I-it's just a matter of…"

"No, Paint," Alice interrupted. "Nisaya and Nettle have it together more than they put forward. I guess I can't speak for the far future, but don't think about escape anytime soon. It's not worth the risk. You said it yourself: 'with guns'." It was an unexpectedly stern, even icy, admonition from someone only so recently asking her friends to be nice to the new girl.

Paint's bunkmate didn't seem to think this was fair, either. "Aw, Alice!" she pleaded. "I mean, yeah, sure, they're loaded, but you can't say it's not gonna happen! I'm sure Paint can-"

"Cayne."

She grumbled incoherently and almost inaudibly in response.

"No," Alice reaffirmed. "We're sore all over quite enough from mining; we don't need anything more… serious."

"Uuuurrrgh… C-can we just go to sleep or something? I'm tiiiiiiired."

"That's fine," sighed the hedgehog as she adjusted her quills, which had become a little disheveled, again. "Maybe that's for the best, actually; we'll need to be getting her up to speed with everything tomorrow."

Everyone in the room left her cot and got ready for tooth-brushing, the exiting motions ranging from a stately rise from Kitokcha to a rapid, energetic hop from Chives. Cayne allowed Paint to get up at her leisure by crawling across the prow of the bed. Alice gave Paint a warm smile.

As Paint, at the outdoor spigot with the other girls, cleaned her mouth of all its worldly sins with a taste she had always carried a mysterious predilection for – mint – she stared up at the immense, beautiful night sky and mused on what it might be like to soar through it. Tails would know.

And someone closer to her would know, too, but was now unable to live out this experience, even if not for the purpose of altruistic escape. Maxwell was broken, and she had done it.

Everything was ugly once more. Why hadn't it been her to be violently incapacitated? Why couldn't she have lost an arm? She had come so close in the truck to provoking Nisaya into finally shooting. It would have shut her up and given her what she deserved for spiraling all of her best friends into the debacle in the first place. But fate had not leaned that way, so she was stuck intact and Maxwell broken, without his quickly-reformed parents to comfort him. She could not even stomach the guilt that wracked her in advance at the thought of merely apologizing.

Instead, she dreamed up a wise, judicial Nisaya enacting blame upon her in a courtroom as stately and conducive of justice as Mobius could have ever known. With a great lightning-flash of glistening white, she zapped Paint's shoulder blades, destroying them both and leaving her bleeding profusely and crumpled, discarded, barely capable of kneeling in repentance. At the same time, Maxwell was miraculously healed, and he spit on her head and rose majestically like any kind of very-much-living insect angel, as had ever served the gods. Golden, reverberating voices of approval rang out through the stained wooden walls and all through the air, and Paint could not understand a word as she disintegrated into scrap muscle, but she felt bitterly wonderful.

But that was all deep in her incompetent, irresponsible head, where she could not stay forever. In the moment, she welled up a spring of water between her gums once more and spit it all out in disgust, the lingering, still-spicy taste of the mint being outrun by the sour, even more pungent taste of being a terrible friend. She began to weep and slunk off back inside to try and sleep – devoid of all manner of life-energy, and not only from her Calvin cycle being corrupted by the sky's darkness outside.

Everyone else, predictably, was already inside, preening themselves as necessary for the night before work could begin again and profits could spin again. Or at least it seemed that way at first: Cayne stumbled into the room once more, wiping ill-placed streaks of foam from her eyes and somehow still less wont to cry than Paint. When she saw Paint's condition, she climbed into bed with her and, for now, said nothing, but playfully scratched her on the belly.

The lights were soon turned off. Concerned, Cayne looked up into the eyes of her new fuzzy pet and softly asked, "Paint, what's wrong? I don't want my fuzzball to have wet eyes."

Paint sniffed and managed to quietly blubber out the relevant details of Max's injury, leading up to having walked into the house in the first place earlier that night. Anger streaked not once through the veins of Cayne's coal-colored face. Instead, she calmly whispered, "Oh, that's not so bad!"

"'N-no-ot so b-bad'?" Paint sputtered in a betrayed kind of disbelief, with uncomprehending tears outrunning one another in an expressway marathon down the length of her furry cheeks. A couple of drops clung to her whiskers and hung there patiently like bats. "H-how" – sniff – "can you say that? M-Max was my… a-and now he... he just… a-aaaaahh…"

"Sounds to me like you were just trying to be nice! I barely… well, I don't 'know'-know you yet, but that's totally in line with how I see you."

It was a kind thought, and if Paint were being honest she would admit that, through the darkness recently cast upon the tiny room, it had enlivened her spirits a _little_, but… her feelings were not even the pertinent concern tight now.

Of course, what it was she could still barely articulate out loud: "B-but Maaax… he…"

"It _does_ sound bad, and back before I got here, biology was never my best subject – actually, probably failed that test I never did end up getting back, hee-hee – but I bet the other boys will be taking care of him. And if not, or if they need a little of some kind of help… I wonder if we could fix him up."

"I don't know," Paint pondered. She wiped her eyes, sniffled again, lay her head down with face pointing upward at the ceiling, and began to genuinely imagine this possibility. Surely it was a jejune idea, but an attractive one nonetheless. "That sounds wonderful, but we still don't have a way to meet him, even…"

But she sat up again, her cheeks kneaded into a grin of excitement once more. "So we'll have to engineer some solution to the problem of never being alone with the male populace without 'supervision'." At this point, her speech had grown a bit beyond the whispering coos that were typical of such an hour. "As we should! Trying to contain Paint is a futile exercise, because she will always leak out through your hands! And if your world is grayed out and devoid of hue, she will color it again and always come back to you! Because she loves you!"

Kitokcha, unwilling to wake up like any cat when it's made up its mind, grumbled aloud, "Then you must be of a very _loud_ color."


	60. Chapter 60

**Author's note: Looks like I'm not as well-endowed with time as I'd thought. I won't lecture too long about the details of my situation, but in a few words, my parents have decided that my life ought to be more tightly controlled and tailored to their desires for what kind of person I am to be. My winter break so far has been a tough couple of weeks, to put it mildly, but I suppose I'm still surviving, and better than I was a week ago. On the bright side, I'm more motivated than ever to pierce the canvas of unemployability and find a real job so I don't have to live with them for a single night once I've graduated.**

A neutral, whimsical breeze wafted giddily through the trees and Paint's whiskers as though it were just coming down from a strong but not particularly sweet cup of coffee and enjoying its strange feelings very much. Although the sun was still in the process of rising to a respectable daybreak level, she could already tell that it would be a fairly warm day for what was becoming the beginning of fall, but at this hour she wasn't yet of a sufficient cognitive acuity to enjoy it.

Paint rubbed the sleep out of her eyes like an intruding layer of topsoil still obscuring the valuable commodity of alertness to work. She kept up the pace with the other girls, who all seemed more used to getting going and being held to a task immediately after waking up, although Kitokcha was still obviously displeased. On the other end of the spectrum, Chives was as energetic as ever, clearly wanting to step out of the pack to follow an interesting scent for a spell.

"Yawn... is there anything I should be primed to know from the start?" she asked Alice, who was calmly leading the group to the mouth of the cave where the day's work would take place. "The best way to sharpen the shovel on your claws without damaging either one? The ideal angle for holding it while excavating through different materials? Whom to alert if you unearth an unspeakable evil or an ancient, isolated civilization?"

"Not really; you'll figure that all out on the job," Alice answered. "Mm, 'up to speed' was a poor choice of words on my part last night, if you're expecting to get all the nuances of mining right away before you even start."

"Ahah... w-well, then I can show you exactly how to hit me if I'm getting too talkative for your tastes!" she apologized rapidly. She hopped up a little toward Alice and took her wrist. "Here, let me see your fist..."

Focused up ahead, Alice gently shook her new, hands-on friend away. Confused, Paint swiveled her head around the surroundings until she noticed that they'd reached the entrance - and there all the boys were!

She seemed to instantly forget about her group and obligations, bounding up to say hi and make as complete of amends as she could with her best buddies. Arrowhead was staring idly at the ground, kicking a pebble around, but brightened up a little when he saw her running at him. She embraced him, squeezed him tightly, and even lifted him a couple of inches off the ground in the excitement.

As soon as she let him down, though, he shrunk away and stood firmly with his group. That was fine; he had seen her only the previous evening, after all, even if the expectation had been there that the wait could be much longer. Instructions would be given out soon, too, and he, like everyone else, would have to be ready. But maybe it was more than that. Something sluggishly and deliberately shuffled its feet from out of the pack and into Paint's full view, and it was not happy. It was Maxwell, and he looked terrible.

He coughed weakly, a hint of wheezing making it into the awful sound. "It's you," he said.

The connection of his wing to his body appeared to have been treated by the head of the boys' bunker or by some medically capable member of their group; it was wrapped around with gauze. However, dried blood was still patently visible through the incompletely opaque bandages, and not only his hesitating, careful steps but even his breathing appeared to cause him discomfort through causing this joint to flex, however small the torque. He blunk slowly and frequently, easily betraying a propensity to keep his eyes closed. His grievous injury had not been kind to him through the night, so she would have to.

It was painful for her to even lay eyes on - and it could also have be seen as impolite, so she did not. "H-hi, Max! How're you doing?"

"Wonderful." His pupils stood at attention, trained on hers like enfeebled yet hostile military snipers.

"...Swell!" she giggled uncomfortably. "I suppose, then, that I can't rightly give Arrow a hug without... ah..." She leaned in for a similar goodwill gesture with him, too, but he raised a rigid arm forward for an emphatic no.

Maxwell said nothing, but Jewel silently made himself visible from the group and smiled and waved at her.

Voices from the boys' group were less friendly, however. "This her?" "Yeesh, she looks like a walking 'joke' herself." "Nah, I'd say a piñata." "Or maybe a Nakkautaru doll - I bet I could even pull her straws out." "She oughta have Kit knead out the knots in her fur, yuck."

Apparently not sure whether Paint would be taking offense to these remarks - she wasn't - Alice walked up and waved her hands around. "Uh... guys... I- oh!"

A distraction was ready: Nisaya coughed lightly to alert the workers to her presence. She was holding a canvas sack with a couple of patches cut from the same material sewn on; she weakly shook it, and even though it made little sound, it got everyone's attention through its motion, like a prideful waving flag.

"So, this'll just be a normal day," she sighed to the now-silenced and obedient audience. "You all know what to do - oh, and Paint?" Paint looked up, so she shook the sack, letting its mouth flop open and closed. "This is for any diamonds you find - anything else that's valuable, but especially them. Shovels are inside - at least for everyone else. I forgot to get an extra one for you, but I can't exactly leave you kids alone, so when Nettle wakes his dumb butt up and hauls it out here I can grab you one from inside our building. Alright, everyone inside! As I'm sure you all saw, Cayne found a few pretty big ones yesterday over by the collapsed section inside, where her shovel is, so you all might want to cluster over there or something."

They obliged and marched in, but Paint saw the lack of a niche for herself and instantly hummed over to Nisaya for instruction. "Hey, uh... there's not exactly a job for me quite yet, and you apparently don't have any more evidence as to when your brother's gonna pop over than I do, so... ah... how should I be paying my economic rent to society for the time being?"

"Oh," grunted the uninvested supervisor as she scratched the nape of her neck and followed the feisty itch around to her back. "Just... observe, I guess. Look at what's working and what's not. _Hopefully_ you won't be in this position for very long..."

Something still puzzled the now-eager fox. "Wait a sec - why do all the guys have shovels? Arrow, Max, and Jewel haven't been here any longer than I have. What gives?"

"Their head brought them here last night to show them the ropes and got ones for your buddy-boys then. Alice was _supposed _to do that for you - that's standard practice for newbies, depending on when you arrive - but I guess sleeping took priorities. Disappointing, huh? Oh, well; you're here now."

Not quite sure what to do with her small measure of freedom, Paint stumbled into the cave. It appeared well-supported; a sturdy wooden exoskeleton bolstered the walls. A few scarce lanterns dotted the interior, but because of the still-increasing sunlight and the fact that the mine didn't appear to extend more than perhaps thirty meters in, where they were working, more light was unlikely to be needed. There were no mine-carts or mechanical lifts in place; this cave appeared to be a fairly young, improvised affair.

She moseyed over to the boys and girls, who were already working, their levels of interest ranging from bored but compliant to beaten-down somehow. However, Alice's eyes wandered for a split second and caught Paint's, and she smiled and beckoned her over. Paint was, of course, willing to oblige and be with the girl who had been the first to nurture her since her arrival, but she sussed while walking over and preparing to kneel down and watch that a more responsible choice existed.

Maxwell, who had not been given the basic, decent, sub-gift necessity of any manner of reprieve from his duties, was making a chummy effort to shovel, but was grimacing so hard through every pitiful stroke for lustrous reward that Paint instinctively bounded right over to his side, stopping at a respectable few steps away.

"M-Max?" she entreated.

"Mm?" He slowly swiveled his neck around to meet her, as one most typically does when one has just torqued it too hard and fast and received a sharp, hot pain there as punishment.

She stuck her arms out to mark both surrender to her guilt and friendliness. "Need a hand... pair?"

He looked back and forth between his small indentation in the incorrigible wall and her a few times, turning his neck as slowly as before, and then handed her the shovel. "Yeah, you better get to work," he answered, almost at a whisper.

That was progress. He scooted out of the way and shifted to play the role of the observer as she made her first inroads. The dirt was mostly tough, and of course he had not yet helped coax it into crumbling very much, but she found that by angling her knees and the direction in which she applied force correctly, she was able to de-clump it fairly easily.

Periodically she looked back at him, her sense of submissiveness to him internalized more than she figured it ever would be to the wolf siblings. When not tenderly massaging his own joints - either the _ad hoc_ appointed medic had allowed this or he just didn't feel like keeping his hands away - he quietly watched her. "So..." she asked only to him, "are you gonna take a red pen to my work?"

"It's fine," he murmured.

That was as forgiving as he would get for now, so she decided to have a look at this supposed hearty, diamond-rich deposit. It was across the corridor from her - on the left; she was stationed on the right - and about ten meters further into the cave, and four workers were chipping away at it: two of the boys, Caroline, and Cayne. Cayne struck a soft patch and felt something, so she knelt down and pulled something out - it was a diamond! While coated superficially in dirt, it was unmistakably shiny all the same. She and her teammates excitedly muttered a few inscrutable words about it, and then she hopped up. She attempted to get the attention of Chives, but she appeared to be intently focused on her own patch to the exclusion of all outside interference. Shrugging this off, she hopped over to Paint and Maxwell and showed it more closely to them.

"Wow!" Paint exclaimed, her eyes glistening in a vain attempt to match the shine of the gem. "You could rupture a tank with that - or an unconverted lover's heart! Sweet!"

"Not bad," Maxwell added before lapsing back into a weak coughing fit.

Satisfied with their attention, Cayne kept walking until the outdoors, where she handed the gewgaw to Nisaya and exchanged a short spell of small talk with her, likely about the continued absence of the male wolf from the work-site. Afterwards, Cayne bounded back and returned to her shovel's nook as before without a word.

Paint simply returned to her work as usual, finding nothing as usual. But somehow she didn't mind this; the task, while certainly a physical workout that would inevitably become tiresome after a few more hours, was also stepping into a groove she could easily ride. And it was such that she barely noticed the familiar footsteps leading up to her.

There was a tap on her shoulder, which turned out to belong to Alice. She smiled at Paint and silently gestured her to come with her to a spot further into the cave. Of course, she could not simply abandon Maxwell - but he rolled his eyes and plunged through the pain to yank the shovel from her hands. He nodded and silently returned to working himself, or at least the opaque semblance of working.

Paint grinned in thanks as she stood all the way up and accompanied Alice to her destination. It was getting darker, but there was no cause for uneasiness as lanterns were still scattered generously enough and the end of the cave - a simple, drab wall of crusty soil and rock - was easily visible. Alice sped up for a few seconds as they passed Cayne, who waved again but appeared confused at the slight. She continued to usher Paint past even Arrowhead and Jewel, who were the farthest-in workers, both chipping away at a spot together.

As it turned out, Alice was indeed escorting Paint to the cave's very rear. When they finally arrived, Alice knelt down and pointed to a wide crack made on the left side of the wall, just at the rear corner. Paint saw nothing of note at first, but as Alice prodded her to look deeper, it made itself visible. It was a giant diamond; she could not even see its edges.

"Whoa!" Paint blasted out. It was magnificent.

"Shhhhh!" Alice admonished, even cupping her hand over Paint's mouth to functionally silence her beyond just a gesture to be quiet. Paint looked at her, not comprehending an apparent magnitude that lay in the situation, and she explained in a whisper, "No one else knows about this; let's keep it that way." She placed her warm arm warmly around Paint's shoulder to reinforce their friendship, since her dialogue couldn't cover that ground alone at the moment.

"Why not? It's got to be worth a teeming bundle! I bet Nisaya'd set us all free and marvel over this for a good week if you showed it to her!" The imagery leapt playfully and tantalizingly before her eyes: Nisaya and Nettle dancing around the new boon to their life savings, the other Mobian and human children dancing off to their respective homes and Paint and the rest of her gang - a freed Star included - off to Yakhtanmantannji to resume their journey. It would have to work, wouldn't it? And no one would lose!

Alice frowned, somehow offended at the suggestion. "What good would _that_ do? No, I want it to just be for us."

"Us?" She was getting impatient with the strange behavior of her superior, and began to paw at the hole, enlivened by the mammoth find. "W-we can find more while the wolves are fawning over it, but if there's a chance we can put them so far in business that they have no use for us anymore, let's exhaust it!" She began prodding at the edges of the hole with the sharp edge of her shovel.

The cross Alice seethed, "No, Paint; don't you _get_ it?"

Still too electrified to be angry in response, Paint answered, "No, I don't!" She shoveled harder and harder, determined to free the planetoid stone from its confines. Alice, however, was getting plenty angry to compensate, and she shoveled dirt back into the hole. Alice's work was a losing battle, though - besides the fact that dirt shoveled back in remained loose and easy to re-remove, Paint was fuller of energy to free the diamond. At long last, one lucky stroke freed a great deal of dirt, with several large rocks riding along onto the floor with it. The diamond was even more exposed now, a solid square foot of it visible now.

This was proof enough, so Paint resolved to alert the superior she and Alice shared. "_NISAAAAAAAYAAAAAA_!" she shouted at the top of her lungs while taking what was to be the first of many happy steps out of the cave to announce their excavation.

Alice growled as she tackled Paint and silenced her once more. "_No!_" she sizzled. "_Shut up!_" With her free hand, she slapped Paint across the face. The once-happy hedgehog meant business, and clearly not financial business.

Paint finally comprehended Alice's conviction in keeping the diamond a secret, but still had no clue as to her motivations. She stared sadly up at Alice, tearing up at the situation. "Mmmf-mmfff?" she asked.

The hole, however, was not done. It continued to expand as more clumps of dirt helpfully dislodged themselves. At once, a great big deposit crumbled at the left wall of the opening, and with it tumbled more and more rocks, faster and faster. Alice immediately absolved herself of any anger and pulled Paint toward her, holding her tightly against the onslaught. The wall continued to cave in, whipping away the last shreds of light they had to mark the mouth of the cave and the sentry lanterns. The rocks settled in place, signifying that they would not be crushed by anything else from the ceiling, but they were now completely trapped in their tiny chamber, alone.


	61. Chapter 61

**Author's note: Still hungry for Paint to eventually meet Tails, eh? Don't worry; all things will come with time. Meanwhile, it's time to break a bit of new ground. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did slaving over a few short passages in it.**

"No." Paint swallowed quickly. She began to hyperventilate. "No! NO! _N-NOOOOO!_ I-IT CAN'T! NO!"

She sprang up and began walking in steps both careful and panicked to the rocks that seemed the closest in orientation to wherever the way out would lie, but tripped over one. She instinctively stuck her arms out to keep her head from injury, but her cheek grazed the rough, sandpaper-like edge of a rock and burned with pain. She finally broke, sobbing like a ruptured water main and heaving with uncontrollable, pitiful moans. She pounded on the rock wall - slowly at first, then at a feverish frequency of fists - before remembering that they had even been lucky not to be crushed in the first place and certainly could not afford more caving-in now.

It couldn't be. It wouldn't. They would be rescued immediately. Or perhaps not - perhaps they would simply calm their nerves and smartly select a few stones to push out of the way and into freedom. Right? It would have to work.

"Paint." The voice was dim and distant; it barely registered as she clawed out handful by handful of dirt and gravel, dislodging small rocks to find bigger ones behind them.

"Paint." Still nothing; Alice's word lingered as an optional abstraction in the air, like an alert that one has a phone call waiting while one is busy with more important tasks. Paint found a large-sized rock, wedged her foot behind it, and used her leg muscles to wrench it free. She was rewarded with no glimmer of light, only more and more rocks tumbling down in its place like hydra heads.

"Paint."

That was it. She slammed her fists on the dislodged rock and broke into a cry once more. She could not accept it. Why had they been entombed on such an arbitrary occasion? Had the gods not taken kindly to what they viewed as pursuit of worldly goods like giant diamonds? No, of course not - the wolves had done no better, and she had only had the boys' and girls' happiness in mind. Right? Or could it have been that an opportunity to punish wrongdoing in progress, such as never appeared for Nisaya or Nettle, was seen - and was taken?

"Paint."

Her.

Bile rose up in Paint's throat as she turned, blinded by topological circumstance and by passionate rage, to face her cellmate. She spit disgustedly on the ground and growled something intended as "What?"

Of course, now Alice had changed her attitude. "W-what? Why are you angry at me? _I_ didn't do this!"

She was right. Paint sighed, deeply unsatisfied, and sunk down into some kind of slouch, unaffected by the rough rock bed she lay on. _So, this is what it's like to die._ She had expected something more poetic, something more conclusive. Oh, well. She could at least live out her last moments with her new friend with dignity. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"We'll begin starving eventually," Alice solemnly observed. "You can eat me when the time comes. Here, we'll sharpen a little rock you can use as a knife."

"I'm not eating you... We can starve together."

"Or we can die together another way!" was the hedgehog's next passionate suggestion. "Rocks are heavy. I'm sure we could set something up to crush our skulls at the same time."

"Ugh." That certainly didn't sound appealing, but is any cessation of life? She spit bitterly on the ground and contemplated how she might most like to finalize her departure from her worldly best friends and her reunion with Cosmo. Perhaps most agonizing was the realization that Pomegranate's story would never reach a proper conclusion unless Arrowhead and Star somehow reunited and took it upon themselves to pen an ending in the memory of their late friend and co-author Paint.

"Paint?"

She was exasperated at this point. "_What?_"

The words sifted toward her from strangely close now. "I... I love you."

"...Uh, I love you too, Alice."

As if she had been poised to pounce, waiting on a response of this kind as would a lead actress from her co-star at a satisfying denouement, Alice suddenly tackled Paint, pushing her onto a soft dirt patch and pressing their mouths together.

What was this? Sure, Paint felt gratitude toward her new friend and had quickly bonded with her, but how had that led here? Had Alice planned to kiss her? If so, for how long? It was all so confusing. She couldn't rationalize it. It didn't feel quite right, though, so she began to gently push Alice away, but the latter suddenly detached herself and rolled off. It was over as quickly and arbitrarily as it had started.

"Paint, I- I'm so sorry," she sputtered, more taken aback by her own behavior than Paint could bring herself to be.

How does one respond to that? "Uh... uh, it's okay, but I'm just not... um..."

"Should've expected," sniffled the guilty party, still shaking. "It's just... oh, I just love you so much. And if we're going to be in here forever, I- I just thought m-maybe we..."

Slowly but with no drop of hesitation in her blood, Paint stood up straight, proud, and sure of her entire being, like a time-lapsed sequoia in a nutrient-rich alcove full of sunlight and happiness.

"I love you, too," she asserted, with Alice as the recipient but the cruel, arbitrary circumstances as an important intended listener. She picked up her shovel, slamming it on the floor as though casting an evil witch's last, greatest magical spell. Her words and her newfound purpose of being resonated through the pitch-black forest, illuminating her secondary-colored fur for all to see. "And that's why I'm going to spend every one of my last breaths, if that's what it takes, exploiting every last mote of possibility that we _will. Not. Be. In here. Forever._

"Oh, and Alice?" She continued to mean business as before, but a quick task needed tending to.

"Y-yeah?" Her cellmate rose from her pitiful slump as well, and the clang of the second shovel being picked up from the ground rang out triumphantly.

The echolocation having been done for her, Paint leapt out and smooched Alice right back. The impropriety of romance for a time like this did nothing to dull her determination to right a wrong. It was powerful, it was warm, it was wet, and then it was over.

"Let's do this. We still have our sanity and our sense of direction, so here's the wall we'll go at. I'm not - we're not - dying without a struggle."

While they dragged the diamond along with them the whole way, other rocks were moved. Their space was limited, but materials gradually inched backward, shifting their small space away from its starting point. One unpleasant thought that crept up on Paint was that, should their direction chosen be incorrect, they might be unwittingly obscuring themselves from a potential rescue party, but she reasoned that such a party would at least see the disheveled rocks and dirt and realize that they were safe and alive inside. She pressed on without complaint and without succumbing to her body's pining hunger for sunlight. For now, no one besides Alice was there to hear it, and in either case it was not a situation that could be abated through verbal admonition or adjuration.

Once in a while they would find a large boulder that could not be carved out independently for either safety reasons - being crushed was the last thing they could deal with now - or sheer impossibility - mountains are not designed to be moved, even a little at a time. At these points, they would dig around the obstruction. There was surely something poignant and poetic to be found endemic to the activity, but they were just too hard at work to be attentive to such things. Defiance of fate is its own form of art.

"I never thought it'd e-... I never thought I - we - would ever get in a situation lik-ke this," Alice mused out loud, grunting near the end of the sentence as she heaved a prickly clod of dirt behind her. I've been spinning webs of the future ever since I was bo-orn." She took another dig. "When it works, it's great! I never saw myself as stable or confident enough to win Nisaya's and Nettle's trust, but they appointed me th-the head of our house!

"But it's not always that simple. I wasn't e-even" - pained grunt - "supposed to be here in the first place. It could've been so much easier. I could've been patient and walked home myself, but I had to" - grunt - "a-accept a _ride_." She shivered at the memory, of what she had left behind even then.

"But you... you're different," she elaborated. "I recognized your story, the type of person you are, instantly. You... work. You adapt. You... clarify the flailing, agonizing threads in my head." She shoveled a particularly dusty batch of dirt behind her like her free past, causing the two to cough a little.

"And right when I thought I had just what I wanted... well, here we are. Paint," she sighed, fighting back tears now, "I don't even care if we buy our freedom and all... go... our separate ways anymore. I just want to... live. Is that really so much to ask?"

"I could never work that way," Paint replied thoughtfully after wrenching another dirt clod loose. "I mean, just t-two weeks ago, I had no idea I'd be leaving my hometown anytime soon at all. And s-shortly thereafter I was blissfully glad I had, but here we are. Within this little amount of time, I've completely changed my life, my three best friends', a-and even that of a new friend - a friend whom I didn't even know before!" But, of course, Star was off by itself. Who knew what it was doing? She grimaced at the thought and clarified, "It's more exciting this way, maybe, but it certainly wouldn't solve all your problems."

"...Paint?"

"What is it?" She took a shovel-ful and then gave her undivided attention.

"What is it about Arrowhead? About you... and him?"

It was a momentous question to answer, so she started with the basics. "He... cared. You have to understand - I don't know if I seem well-connected now, but I just wasn't not very long ago. I mean, you can see how I look, my color scheme... well, er... you know from memory that I'm just... I'm different."

"And he didn't see that?"

"No, but that was the thing. He saw who I am... and he didn't mind it. He knew I was the little mutt girl, born from an accomplished, well-liked engineer and a race of cruel beings who knew nothing but how to conquer and leave the napkin on the table, who inherited the predictable, disappointing side of her family. He knew I was the hooligan who squandered every rare gift of hospitality she ever received in her life. He was, despite all of his expertise with forests and rocks, unable to see the forest for the trees or to dig into the core of what I am, and I... I love him."

Alice expelled a long, finalizing sigh, like one would after reaching the end of a long, lifeless tunnel whose cold embrace one had somehow grown fond of. "Then let's go get him back," she decided.

After picking up their shovels once more, they dug harder and harder. The gigantic slab of mountainside that had slammed down through the tunnel's wooden braces to seal their doom was no match for two kids who had spent their entire lives digging themselves into and out of holes and into the unpredictable arms of close friends.

Some things never change.

Paint took a good, clean jab at the wall directly in front of her, and her blade made a peculiar noise. She pulled it out - light! This was it - if they weren't hallucinating out of sheer exhaustion, they had reached the end! The lustrous energy rushing in to greet them was blinding, and yet it was wonderful. Paint's gradient skin sung out with joy like a partisan-divided legislature on a universally agreeable bill.

The figure on the other side apparently realized right away that it had struck gold as well, so it, Paint, and Alice quickly pushed the remaining rocks out of the way until everyone was in full view of one another. Paint at first hid her eyes from the glaring light, but not for long: her best friend's body made for a perfectly capable visor. She squeezed Arrowhead's body almost to the point of his eyes popping loose and wept for triumphant joy, as did he to her. Someone had cared. Of course, others also crowded around the two to bubble loudly and joyfully, but he appeared to have led the rescue effort.

"Paint, I'm not sure what's gonna happen, but never do that again, okay?" he exhaled. There was a rough, cutting hoarseness to his voice that coated his sweet affection for her, and it was strangely captivating.

"Don't do what," she giggled wearily, "seek out easy solutions to frustrating goals?"

"Uh... yeah, that."

Independently of the sentimental moment, Paint blunk repeatedly at the intensity of the sun, which was screaming right at the scene for attention as it sank below the horizon. It was sunset already? ...Or, it was sunset only now? It's naturally difficult to maintain one's internal clock when in a situation like what they had just endured and escaped, but that would become their prerogative now as survivors. What would happen now?

Behind her, Alice sighed, lifted up the giant diamond for the final time, and presented it to their supervisors, including Nettle, who had apparently shown up at some time. "This diamond, the... uh... sole fruit borne from our disastrous work earlier today, has got to be worth a fortune," she asserted, struggling to maintain her confidence and force after the excruciating ordeal. "Paint?"

"Mm?" she muttered without letting go of the amphibian for the sake of associating with her fellow canids. "Oh, is this it?"

"Ahem," coughed Alice, satisfied with the minor show of support. "Nisaya and Nettle, I've enjoyed being the girls' prefect here, even if we... um, didn't meet under the best of circumstances. So it's with... uh, great discontent that I offer you this diamond, which is by far the largest ever mined here and likely worth millions of mobiums, in exchange for the freedom of everyone here."

She brushed aside some of the clods of dirt that still stubbornly clung to it even after its extensive time spent being dragged and kicked through the darkness. Gasps erupted from everyone around.

"Alice!" shrieked Cayne. "It's wonderful!"

Chives drooled at it.

"Reminds me of my parents' beautiful crystal-ware, back... back _home_," Caroline whispered in awe.

"Electrifying," Kitokcha mused as her offering.

"Hey, doofus, it's another you!" Maxwell grunted and gently punched Jewel, who seemed to begin a friendly, timid recoil punch until he glanced at his friend's still-injured shoulder, which nevertheless appeared to be marginally improving. "Nah, I'm sorry," Max admitted. "Great job, you guys. I almost don't totally loathe you, Paint." Even so, he made sure to give her a tight hug as well, and he too wept a few scarce happiness droplets.

Of course, the exchange was still incomplete with no verdict from the authority parties. The result? "I'll certainly think about it," Nisaya gleamed, grinning warmly as she took it, used her teeth to prod at it a little bit - just on the off chance that the twin folk wisdom and scientific consensus that diamonds are really, really hard was mistaken somehow - and cradled it back and forth affectionately like a helpless wolf cub to get a sense of its weight distribution. She certainly was impressed.

"Nets, hold onto this," she instructed and handed it to him, wincing with an odd kind of relief as she let the heavy weight out of her arms. He nodded and began to walk it back to the administrative building.

But he would not be alone. "Paint, come with me," Nisaya said softly. "I guess this line of work wasn't safe for you anyway. Alice?" she called. "You, too."

Paint sighed and peeled herself away from the scene, breaking out into an awkward but well-intentioned hobble behind the two wolves. She looked back demonstratively to inquire to them about her other friends. "Nah, we probably shouldn't," Nisaya asserted, understanding immediately. "You'll be able to see them in a little bit. I've just gotta talk to you about the discovery for a bit - don't worry; shouldn't take long. C'mon." Alice also stood at attention, smiling at her fellow survivor.

"Alright, and if it's not too greedy to ask, can I request a continental massage, hehe?" Paint asked wearily. "'S not like I'm in the most limber of states right now - I mean, if you can be a little more gentle with me than with Max there, seeing as I'm saving you financially, that'd be great, haha." Nisaya threw her head back and let out a joyous laugh, the first genuine one she had ever seen.

Paint and Alice did as they were told anyway, though, and walked with them. It was exhausting for Paint to move her body much, but she took beautiful solace in imagining how she and her friends would go about continuing the adventure in short order, once the financial dealings were finalized. And what of Alice? Well, her family would have to have been worried sick, as the story usually goes, and if the logistics were arranged right, maybe Paint would get to meet them.

When they reached the building - the nicest of any on the property - Nisaya jogged ahead a little bit and pulled out a key, which she used to open the weighty door, slightly grimy around the edges. She held it open for Paint, Alice, and Nettle as they all settled in behind her. There was nothing much to see inside right away - only a staircase up to the rest of the building, along with a few closets, one of which was a few inches ajar. It was dim, a welcome break from the fiery light display outside - such things can be deadly if not handled properly.

"Oh, Nettle?" Nisaya asked casually. "Set it down for a sec - ready to pinch?" That was fine, Paint thought - as much confirmation of the diamond's worth as was needed was fully justified. Such things are easy to use for foolery.

He grunted, set the diamond down by the door, and walked up behind them. Paint began to turn around to admiringly watch them probe their new windfall, which she herself was a little proud of having obtained, but she suddenly felt a hot, clenching pain in her neck. "_Hey, wh-_" she vaguely heard Alice crying out. The surroundings undulated strangely as she felt everything go black.


	62. Chapter 62

**Author's note: So, has anyone else seen the latest episode of _Sonic Boom_, "Guilt Tripping"? The reception I've heard has been only mixed, but I actually really liked it, especially the world-building brought by the introduction of the Gogobas and the Weasels. I mean, these are two new ethnic groups, illustrating that a world actually exists beyond the basic cast of Mobians usually shown in games and most other media. Ahhh, I geek out over that stuff. Sorry. Moving on. Got this chapter done in only five or six days; hope you like it!**

"Uuuuurrrrraugh..." Paint moaned inarticulately as she came to. Her head was imbued with a throbbing ache as she wearily craned her neck around to scope out where she had been placed. It was a medium-sized room without much to decorate the off-white, aesthetically rather neutral walls or similarly unremarkable tiled floor, besides a metal toilet, roll of paper, and crude sink all on the wall she sat up against. Off to her left there was a window: it was black outside; she had been out for somewhere between maybe one hour and nine. It didn't help that there was no clock, nor that no light had been left on inside.

Her eyes would have to adjust so she could explore the surroundings further. She yawned widely and began to stand up, when she realized her hands were cuffed and her right ankle was shackled to a chain maybe twenty feet long, the bulk of it coiled up beside her.

She sizzled with anger as she remembered how she had gotten to this position. _Those two-timing little wastes of fur, they tricked me! Stupid, stupid, stupid - how could I have trusted them after all that? I really am hopeless._ She finished standing up to explore what she could. It didn't get her far - there was a corridor trailing off at the farthest-away point of the wall to her right, but even with her improving vision she could not see it with her chain stretched to its extreme. Sighing resignedly, she trudged back in defeat and relieved her aching bladder. Hopefully the wolves would bring something to eat and drink in the morning.

However, when she flushed, she heard a thumping sound from down the corridor. Someone else was standing up, and a familiar voice pierced through the loathsome darkness, yawning at first and continuing groggily. "Huh? Who's there?" It was Alice!

"Alice!" Paint shrieked out. "It's me!"

"What? _Paint?!_" exclaimed the other voice. "Oh, you have _no _idea how happy it makes me to hear you over there! Are you alright?!"

"Yeah, I'm fine! A little peckish, I might add, but I guess I should've known going in that I wasn't in for a five-star hotel stay, so my continental breakfast will have to wait!"

"What's _wrong_ with them?!" The voice was strained and impatient now. "We were just doing our jobs, and now here we are, shackled up like convicts!" Alice's chains shook resoundingly.

Anger wouldn't help them now, so Paint thought about Alice's pragmatic options. Maybe there would be a way for her fellow captive to free herself and join her in the more comfortable room. "Is there anything in there with you?" she suggested.

"Uh... let me see!" There were fidgeting noises as Alice scoped out her own confines. "Yeah, I can see some tools up on the shelf up here! Screwdrivers, wrenches, saws, pliers, all that jazz! I've never been much of a mechanic, but maybe I could free myself if I had some of them - you know, tear through the chain, or maybe even remove this fixture from the wall! I just can't" - and Alice slammed defeatedly onto the ground - "REACH them!"

"Hmm... are they too far away, or too high up?"

"Both! I- I mean, I could jump if I had to and if it were altitude alone, but with the shortness of my chain, I'm still a couple feet away from being able to grab anything or swipe all of the tools down!"

"You've got the sine but not the cosine, huh? Alright... hey, I've got an idea!" Paint shouted back. "Why use our brains to get this done when we can rely on our brawn?"

"Brawn?! But we're a little tied up h-"

"I know, so let's _channel_ that anger into some force! Maybe if we shake the walls back and forth, a few tools'll be shaken loose!"

"Oh, hey, good idea! Count of three?"

"Whenever you're ready!"

"One... two... three!" Paint and Alice slammed into the walls with their shoulders, their movements cacophonous at first but quickly becoming congruous. After a few good lurches, a few tools slowly dropped. They kept rocking the walls in hopes of more of a reward for their efforts, but no more came.

"That's it, I guess!" Paint shouted with an admixture of disappointment. "Whattaya got?"

"Let's see... there's a pair of wire-cutters, two pairs of pliers, a... kind of octagonal Allen wrench, a hammer - but only the head, for some reason - a roll of duct tape, and a screwdriver! Aaaagh, are you kidding me?! I can't- wait a sec! Hey, maybe the screwdriver'll be able to pry my chain's little fixture straight out of the wall!"

"Ooh, yeah, it's worth a shot!" Paint called back.

"Yeah, I'll ju- Oh, _come on_!" Alice pounded the ground in frustration.

"What is it?!"

"This is a Phillips-head screwdriver, but the screws here are for a flathead!"

Paint's anger riled up again. They had come so close, and then... and then she noticed something. "Wait a second! _Mine_ takes a Phillips-head! Throw it over here!"

"...I don't know, Paint! I only get one shot! I'm not ready for this!"

"You'll do fine! Just chuck it at that area of the far wall just across from where my room starts!"

"...Are you sure?" she whimpered.

"No, but I _am_ sure that we have no idea when we'll be let go if you don't at least try! C'mon, Alice, pitch one into the strike zone!"

"...O-okay, Paint, but be ready for it! Aaaaaaaand... now!" The sturdy little device shot off the wall and rolled into a precarious position, maybe a foot out of Paint's grasp while she lay down to swipe it up. She groaned - this would take a miracle.

"Got it?" Alice asked.

"A-almost!" she replied hopefully. The chain on her ankle kept her from performing the time-honored trick of stepping under her handcuffs to orient them toward her front, and she could not quite lift them over her head. Instead, she inched up toward it, extending her neck as far up as it would go... and successfully grabbed the handle in her teeth!

"Gert ert!" she snarled ecstatically to her impatient cellmate, it still clenched in her mouth. She hopped back to the wall, took it in one hand, and slowly loosened each of the screws connecting her chain's fixture to the wall, craning her neck uncomfortably back to get a good look at the work done behind her back. The last one was sticky, but she eventually got all four loose and the fixture slid right off, making a satisfying thud against the ground.

"Did it!" she shouted. Unmarred by the chain links dragging helplessly behind her anklet and bouncing up and down, she ran over to the other room to see her buddy. It was even darker inside this room, but Alice's face lit up and they hugged warmly... or tried to. Alice's arms being unburdened with any kind of further imprisonment reminded Paint of her own handicap.

"Uhhh..." she admitted sheepishly, "I hate to say it, but I'm not sure I'll be able to do much good like this."

"That's alright - free _me_!" It wasn't a selfish demand, but a perfectly reasonable one.

"Oh. Right. Sorry!" She quickly handed Alice the screwdriver to do it herself. All of the screws holding her own fixture into place were quickly loosened and the entire thing came off in kind.

Alice hopped up, gave Paint another quick peck before she could make any moves of resisting, and offered a suggestion. "Hey, Paint, maybe there'll be a key for your cuffs up here!"

"Hey, yeah!" They both checked the shelf, Alice dipping down every few seconds to return fallen tools to it. It didn't take long - there were a few tiny keys, as slender and grimy as toothpicks, and the fourth one popped the cuffs open like a charm. Eager to continue while the fish were biting, they tried the other keys on their anklets, and found that the first they had found worked on both. Completely freed of their bindings, they massaged their own sore joints. Paint looked around the rest of the floor then visible, with greater heights of freedom on the brain. Alice followed her, instinctively creeping rather than making boisterous noise, and Paint quieted down, too; even though their yelling had generated no responses, the wolves could be sleeping downstairs - or perhaps they had even heard the yelling and would be concerned only with animals walking freely.

"Paint?" Alice gulped, her heartbeat perched on her voice, which was now at a trepidatious whisper. She stopped for attention, and so did Paint.

"Yeah?"

"I was wrong. I- I don't care what happens as long as we can get out of here."

"But how do-"

"This may be our only chance, Paint. We're here, with Nisaya and Nettle very possibly out of the way, and... and we have a way out."

"Well, not any more than usual. I mean-"

This was not the case: Alice pulled from behind her back the trusty wire-cutters, yet another one of the tools that would assist their escape plan. Paint's eyes and grin widened. "A fantastic play by Alice the Hedgehog!" she whispered excitedly. "Let's see if she can carry it home, folks. Your collective breath will not be bated in vain!"

She smiled, too. "Let's go."

They continued tiptoeing along the corridor. They turned a corner left, leaving them with none of the already scarce visible light from the window in Paint's room to guide them. "Wonder if there's a lightswitch around," Alice suggested. They both ran their arms across the smooth walls as they continued until she found one. It flicked on, and while their eyes pained to adjust as quickly as possible, Paint's heart did a somersault as she saw one of the wolves standing right there.

Only... it wasn't. She exhaled in tenuous relief. "Ahhhhhh... strange choice of color for your outerwear, eh, guys?" The comfortable-looking violet cotton jacket hung lazily on a coat hanger near a door that ended the hallway. As though intelligently exploring a dungeon in a video game, Paint first tried a new door closer to them, which had just been illuminated.

It was unlocked. She timidly creaked the door open, and her calming heart sang out with joy.

"STAR!" she yelped, forgetting at first to keep her voice down or her movements discreet. She leapt over to the hulking, sleeping metal creature and held its side. Alice too smiled to see the robot she recognized from earlier.

Her familiar voice and warm fur triggered its booting sequence, and when all of its senses were in order, it looked down at her and suddenly whistled out its warm feelings like a spring's first birdsong as well. Paint noticed from the corner of her eye that Alice looked a bit concerned at a giant construct of steel hugging an animal-plant girl likely less than a tenth its weight, but it was of no consequence: they were both better than ever.

"Star, what have they been doing to you?" was her first question. She hoped it hadn't been too bored or frightened this whole time. While she stared into its tired eyes, Alice galloped to her former room and back for the screwdriver and the remaining keys and peeled off the last prisoner's leg chains.

After cooing in thanks at its other savior, it simply whirred and pointed at the floor in response to Paint - _nothing; I've been right here_. It closed its eyes to indicate what its early response to the stress had been.

"Aw, I'm sorry, buddy - but luck's taken our side for once: our time here is over! C'mon, let's get outta here - I'm not rightly sure how you're gonna get down the stairs and out the door, but hey, you managed it once!" She grabbed its hand and they all prepared to try the next door; its footsteps were heavy and clanking next to theirs.

"It's okay," Alice reminded the group and, perhaps most importantly, herself, "the tough part's out of the way already."

She clenched the doorknob nervously and tried to turn it. It wasn't... locked, exactly. "I-is it stuck?"

Not quite.

She let go and the device rotated back on itself, the door swinging open. These were no coats, though the looks on Nisaya's and Nettle's faces, staring straight into their eyes, was quite frigid enough.

"Not bad," conceded the female as she slowly advanced on them, one matter-of-fact pace at a time. "But not quite good enough."

"_H-h-hooowww?!_" Paint could only inarticulately sputter. How had they not heard them approaching? _Oh, wait..._ she realized, looking back at the terrified Star, who seemed to be quaking even in its sturdy, military-grade frame.

"It's coincidence," Nettle quietly explained. "We couldn't completely leave you alone - we have to not only feed you, but get you informed on what your jobs will be in here. What, did you think we were just being meanies to cackle at our own villainy?"

Paint's paws clenched, her claws digging into them out of anger at herself for not getting it all done just that crucial bit more quickly. But this wasn't quite over - they still had one card to play, and it felt great for the opportunity finally to have come to them: force.

"Y-you forget something, wolves," she challenged. "Star here may not be violent by n-nature, but it's not unable to fight when we need it to. Star, as you may remember... is armed."

But they were unconcerned. "You forget something, too, Paint," Nettle responded calmly. "Star didn't shoot its own chains off on its own and rescue you."

"...What? O-of course not; you scared it half to... to organic life!"

"Star?" Nettle took the unusual choice of addressing it. "Try your gun." It beeped confusedly. "Go on! We won't hurt you." Effecting the electronic, mechanical equivalent of a shrug through muffled robot noises, it attempted to shoot at the wall... and only harmless clicks escaped its cannon. Star, Paint, and Alice all gasped in dismayed disbelief.

"Don't worry; we haven't injured you," Nettle elaborated. "You'll just be running a bit low on spitballs for now."

This was bad, but not unsalvageable entirely thanks to the floor's fortunate furnishings, and this Alice thankfully recognized. "Nettle, I appreciate your geniality," she asserted with almost as little wavering in her voice, "but these screwdrivers are helpful... for eyes as well as for screws, as are these wire cutters" - she snapped them as threateningly as she could muster - "for flesh as well as for barbed wire."

And yet they still did not back down. Nisaya took a few steps back - but they were in no way marked by uneasiness - and pulled out her trusty rifle, which a noisy couple of clicks confirmed was not, in fact, unloaded. "Yeah, and this baby's helpful for killing you if you try anything as well as getting you back into your chains."

Paint's movements were all swaying and catatonic and her tear ducts generous as she, Alice, and Star were led backward and chained up once more. Affording her a small amount of solace and a few saved saline droplets, however, Nettle coaxed them past Star's and Alice's rooms into Paint's own, and enforced their submission by chaining Alice's and Star's legs to Paint's and her as the anchor to the wall. When Nisaya was satisfied with the medieval setup, she lowered the rifle and she and Nettle returned to the stairs for further activities in their morning: the sun was beginning to shine its song of geniality at anyone who cared to listen.

Nettle, however, muttered something to her. "Whatever, just meet me when you're done," she replied apathetically. "Maybe we can give the other kids a day off today and binge the _Explosion Echidna_ trilogy - that diamond'll last us a while. We're almost outta soda, though."

He walked back to meet them. Star whimpered and Alice visibly tensed up, but he was only carrying a tray of assorted breakfast items, which he crouched down and set down in the middle of them. "Can't forget this at the top of the stairs like we did our good day," he said. "You oughta be at your best when working today. We'll bring your materials later on this morning; sit tight until then."

Alice and Paint eyed each other from their uncomfortable cross-legged positions, confused. The atmosphere was once again thankfully nonthreatening, so Alice hedged a question-command: "Mind at least telling us what we'll be doing?"

He looked back before finally departing. "Nothing exciting - that's life around here. Might wanna limber up your hands, though."

The door slammed, and the party listened to his footsteps traverse the stairs and finally disappear altogether. Paint's discontent caused her to shiver with pure sickness - they had been so close to doing the same. Well, that was it: they were back to square one again. Sometimes she felt that her life was nothing but inuring to failure and recursion. She rubbed her own aching temples and, with Alice, curled up behind the protective blind Star's body provided and went back to sleep.


	63. Chapter 63

**Author's note: Think I might just go back to shorter, more frequent chapters. I don't know. It depresses me how low this fic's view count has dropped - I mean, it hasn't had a full review in ages. Argh. Well, if I've ever needed motivation to pick up the pace... things are, as they say, happening again!**

"Careful, you're gonna break it!" Alice shrieked at Paint's capricious workmanship.

"Who cares?" she mumbled. It wasn't as though the quality of her work would expedite or slow down their release. Infinity times anything is still infinity.

"_The wolves_ do!" Alice yelled. "_I_ do! Harry the Armadillo in Leaf Forest, who's been waiting patiently enough for his order, does! Everyone cares except _you_, Paint! Sloppy work helps _no one_!"

Refraining from looking at her cellmate - Star was asleep again - Paint quietly set down her tiny chisel next to the worn-down sandpaper, brought her head down between her tucked knees, blocked off her vision using folded arms, and began heaving back and forth again. She didn't want to see. Alice's angry face, the same Baaritch-forsaken walls between which they'd been caged for over two weeks now, both of their increasingly thin frames - it was painful to look at, so she simply refused. Hurtful noises were scarce, but she wished she could simply roll up her thin, triangular pink ears as well, just to be safe.

It just wasn't fair. She felt as though she had received an implicit promise of treasures now revealed as all too buried all along. Where was Tails? Where were Speedy the Hedgehog, Anna Rose, and Sugar the Rabbit, or whatever those names were? Where was Morris' vault? Where was Amethyst's violin? Where was the fabled "Ice Paradise"?

Where were Arrowhead, Jewel, and Max?

"Hey," Alice asked softly, the voice emanating from near Paint's ear, which twitched dishearteningly. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry." Paint's doleful eyes peeked out from the crack above her arms and peered at Alice, who spat on the floor.

"Hey, are you listening?"

Paint lowered her eyes back out of both of their views and faintly nodded.

"You can be strong... You _are_ strong. You saturated me wi- with a _drive_ to escape, no matter how long it took, and even you can't leech it back out of me now. We'll figure something out."

"Lmmk wmmt?"

Alice exhaled with exasperation, difficult to reconcile with her sympathy for her friend. "Paint, I can't hear you."

"_Like_... _what_...?"

"Well... who's to say the lock-picking option is off the table?" Paint groaned and slumped down again at the tired idea, so Alice continued with her attempts to entreat her. "I'm just saying! Sure, the pen didn't work - oh, and the stains on your paws are totally gone; I can barely even make them out when I try - and as it turns out, fork tines aren't terribly workable either - especially when still covered with salad dressing - but we'll find something! ...Or, hey, maybe we can even trick Nettle into getting us a screwdriver! Trust me, I don't know _how_ he weaseled it out that you weren't serious about acquiring a sudden interest in carpentry."

"Urgh." Staying glum, but prepared to continue - if for no other reason than that there was nothing else to do - she picked up her chisel and began to cut away at the diamond again while Alice returned to her own. Suddenly, they heard the familiar quotidian noise of footsteps on the stairs, causing them relief that they had poised themselves to appear to be working hard on their assigned task. But something was... different. The steps sounded... heavier. This couldn't be good - had Nettle gotten angry at them?

Paint tensed up as, sure enough, Nettle strode up to them. Only... he was no longer taking angry steps. What was going on?

"Ladies, I don't mean to interrupt what looks to be completely satisfactory work for Mr. Harry, but Nisaya and I have decided to allow you two a visitor. We think we'll be doing this on an ongoing basis in substitution of the possibility of reintroducing you to mine work, which... well, still needs to be talked about. In the meantime, here she is!"

The attendee had not tidied herself up before visiting; her coat was matted and a few tiny dirt clods were visibly and valiantly hanging in there... and Paint and Alice could not have been happier. "CAYNE!" Alice shouted, dropping her work immediately and giving her a great big hug with Paint closely in tow. Even Nettle betrayed a small smile before he excused himself from the room to stretch his arms and perhaps retrieve something, like more unpolished diamonds for later.

"I'm soooooo glad you two are still okay!" she howled in delight. She meant it, but quickly turned matters to business as soon as Nettle was out of hearing range.

"Okay, here's the thing," she spoke under her breath, just to be safe. "We're getting you outta here. All of us. Done. It's totally happening!"

"Whhhaaaaattt?!" gasped Paint, remembering only after a few seconds of elation to keep her voice relatively low. "Will it involve carpentry? I've been thinking lately of taking that up."

"Close, actually. Kinda."

The two other girls looked quizzically at each other, then back at their winsome harbinger. "_Fire_," Cayne whispered dramatically.

"Fire? But metal doesn't burn. Or... are you going to be setting up bonfires, f-for police helicopters to notice us? Or 'accidentally' burning Nisaya's jacket and her TV so she and Nettle have to duck out for a couple days and buy new ones? Or assisting those two with lighting up cigarettes, thereby causing them to develop lung cancer and deteriorate over a period of decades?"

"...Uhhhh, not close. Think closer, think... uh, more obvious. ...Paint, we're _burning this building down_!" she impatiently sputtered out.

Paint mouthed the words back in shock, as if to confirm that this was a serious suggestion. "Uh... how about carpentry?"

"It'll be fine! We've got it all planned out - we'll do it when the wolves are in the building. They won't get hurt, but... but let's just say they won't be owning us any longer. Haha! And Caroline even nabbed a fire extinguisher from the tool shed out behind this building, just in case something happens. It'll all be under control as long as you two can move like lightning as soon as you're freed. Well..." - and her neck turned a few degrees - "you _three_. This is 'Star', huh?"

Paint smiled warmly and nodded as she patted its shoulder. "Yeah, wanna meet it? I can wake my buddy up to say hi if you want."

"Nah," said Cayne, looking nervously behind her shoulder for any watchers. "Nettle's the cooler one, I think, but he wouldn't wanna see Star up and running with us. Probably won't have time to boot up and down, if you weren't lying about his booting speed when you described everything about him to us. You seemed to love him a whole lot from the way you talked back then; I'm sure we will, too, heehee!"

"Okay, ah... hm... quick question," Paint stammered. "How's Max doing?" A bit of her sore difficulty of even speaking about him after the harm she had brought him - everyone, as she had long been ruminating, but especially him - rose back up, but she struggled to set it aside for the moment - she did want to know if he was okay.

"Better, but not in any position to fly. Yet! He won't be flying us to safety when all this is done - in fact, this was all Arrowhead's idea."

"Arrow," Paint sighed warmly, her voice taking on the consistency and palatal comfort of sweet nectar. She was both newly proud of him and sublimely confident in him: this was beginning to come off as an ingenious plan demanding of a kind of real creative thinking, and yet it was obvious that he would have all the details and planning down pat. If there were a way for Paint to be happy with being rescued as opposed to taking action herself through sheer, embarrassing circumstance, this was it.

Just then, the footsteps began again, and everyone panicked. "When's this happening?" Alice pleaded - that detail had not been imparted to them.

"Oh! It'll be tonight," Cayne finished. As Nettle opened the door to proverbially give an irritated rap on his wristwatch, she broke back out into safe discussion. "Yeah-yeah, _III _is great also! But _Explosion Echidna II _will always be _my_ personal favorite."

He coughed now and motioned for her to leave. As she obediently sprang up and everyone waved goodbye, Nettle could be heard muttering, "_II_? Good grief. You just don't appreciate storytelling, do you?"


	64. Chapter 64 - End of Part Two

**Author's note: So, that news about Sega, huh? It really does sadden and frustrate me; being a Sonic fan once connoted only a bit of weirdness and a vaguely behind-the-times attitude, but now we're the absolute laughingstock of the gaming community, truly pitiable from all angles in our devotion to a floundering mascot. There's even talk of the Sega Forums going down. *shudders* Well, fortunately the adventures of Paint and co. are in no way financially dependent on Sega, so here's the next installment of them.**

"Ugh. This is awful. It's been dark outside for a-an hour - when are they coming?" Alice groaned, rocking back and forth anxiously. "I thought I'd be able to wait just fine - nope. Not for this." She was hyperventilating.

Paint looked around to check for the slightest sensory signals that the plan was on; she heard, saw, felt, and smelled nothing. "Alice, don't worry about it! There's nothing we can do about it now anyway, so we might as well just be as patient as we can and trust that they've got it under control. ...Admittedly, that sounds like pretty terrible advice, so it's not like we have a choice."

This wasn't quite satisfying, even to herself, so Paint opened up another suggestion. "Hey, let's wake Star up! We're not leaving ourselves, right?" She turned toward it and rapped eagerly on its hull. "Hey, Staaaaaaarrr, time to rise and shine! ...Well, moreso just rise; the 'shining' will come in a little bit."

It booted up, looked at its two companions, and beeped at them inquisitively.

"Have a good rest?" muttered Alice cynically. It whistled a shrugging response, preferring to know what was going on.

"Star, we're getting out of here!" Paint chirped. It was clearly happy to hear this, as expected, but as she lay out the details of her hearsay of the night's impending proceedings, it began to whimper uncontrollably, even turning its eyes away from her. Its reaction seemed deeper than immediate, primal fear, containing in addition a component of despondence. What? Paint held its side for comfort and gently prodded, "Star, what's wrong?"

Well, perhaps the proposal was scary, but its friends still had a right to the information. Star frantically thought for a few seconds about how to convey a concept, then recalled it had done so before. Since both of its arms were free, it gestured to itself, then extended them at appropriate widths to align with the edges of its own torso. Noticing that Paint was intently observing its gestures with a deliberation suggestive of having done it before, Alice asked her, "...He doesn't talk... yet you understand him?"

"Verbal communication's overrated anyway. Go on, buddy!"

With its arms extended to represent its own size, it shifted them over a little, marking another installment similar to itself. Before Paint could hedge audible guesses, the robot's voice box generated an ugly sound and its arms, now pointed toward the ceiling, waved up and around. This was about an individual and an event. _Oh._ She got it.

"Your friend," she solemnly confirmed. "Your old friend... went away in a fire." Star whirred long, deeply, and morosely. _But I thought it said the other robot was destroyed by someone? Someone with... some kind of shoes? _Nevertheless, she didn't think it would be very kind to challenge it right there.

"Don't be worried, Star." This was a bit of a command now; it had become her duty to ensure that Star would not be hurt. "People who love you very much are coming to rescue you."

As the night inched along, the promise became difficult even for Paint herself to believe, but just as she was sinking down in bitter defeat for the night, her nose picked something up. She wasn't alone - "Hey, is that smoke?" Alice asked tensely. And it was, the distinctive odor of combustion wafting lazily yet increasingly thickly around, like a powwow campfire being set up all around to welcome them to a new era of their lives - she only hoped it would be the era of freedom. Paint gulped - there was no turning back now.

It was only then that she remembered a crucial fact about metal: how it tends to react to heat. Instinctively, she clenched her fists as though this might thicken her fur as a safeguard. Well, this was it. It looked now like her trust in her freer friends would have to be just a little more urgent.

Sure enough, as the air and surfaces around them began to warm, a few eager flames began to lick at the walls farthest from them. Alice gripped Paint's hand, both of them beginning to sweat from a cocktail of impending potential doom and the baking heat. Star shook its restraints and wailed at its inefficacy at removing them. Paint, the anchor holding them all in place, lunched in fitful movements away from the wall and tugged on her own chain to free them all. They could get separated from one another just fine later if they could get separated, period, now.

"Paint." Alice locked eyes with her; there was an odd sort of newfound happiness through her tears and her coughs from the first tendrils of smoke. "Maybe something's happened. I don't know yet." She sniffled, lay her head down, and forced herself to keep on. "I just want to remind you, in case the plan really has fallen through, that... th-that I will al-"

Without warning, the door and the situation burst: sure enough, there was the plan's progenitor, running up to them and partially covered in a thin layer of sweat and soot. Theatrics could have been plenty romantic, but action came first. "H-how do I get you all free?!" he shouted, his buggy eyes darting hectically from flame to flame like a quick page of connect-the-dots art before bedtime. Star cheeped hello, generating a quick, sheepish smile from the intruder.

"Oh... uh... hi, Arrowhead!" went Alice. "It's... you. Um... th-there should be some screwdrivers and keys on the shelves in the other room - right over there! Just bring them all; we'll know which is which!"

"Got it!" If toads were supposed to be frogs' lazier and slower cousin, no pedant of taxonomy had ever clued this one in. In what seemed like mere split seconds despite the frantic situation at hand, he blasted there and back with all of the necessary tools cradled in his slimy arms. Although Star's thick fingers could not help them despite its heart's desire to, Paint and Alice quickly got themselves all free.

They sprang up, eager to finally desert this place for good. Alice locked her arm around Paint's shoulder and stared right at Arrowhead. "Let's go!" she shouted; the clamor of the building's deteriorating wooden frame caused her to strain her voice a little. "Just out the door, right?!"

Unfazed, he nodded. Robot, toad, Seedrian-fox, and hedgehog were finally free creatures, and their first act was to spring for the door to save their skins.

Inevitably, emancipation portends bite-back: Nisaya was standing in the doorway, and she was not happy. Her eyes glowed to reflect the flames both within and without, and her teeth were bared in an ugly snarl. Arrowhead groaned and steeled his arms, ready to do whatever his part might be in fighting this crazed woman.

But she had other plans. "_YOU!_" Nisaya snarled hatefully at the mass of escapees. "YOU'VE TAKEN EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!"

"You're wrong, Nisaya!" Alice shouted. She was keen to unleash all of the betrayal and sorrow she had been biding. "You took our families away from us - including Paint's, whom she still hasn't even been lucky enough to _meet in the first place!_ I was stupid, and you destroyed the trust I was stupid enough to place in you! _Drop dead, _Nisaya the Wolf! Maybe you've eaten grandma, but you're not getting another snack tonight!"

"I don't care, you stupid girl! You and your princess can dance all you like, but I'm not leaving here without what's mine, what I've earned!" She rushed toward them and Paint's adrenaline rose up to a fitful climax; she let out a loud, deep growl and prepared to pounce - but Nisaya lunged past them. She bent down and began picking up the diamonds from the floor, beginning with the large ones they had been working on but also including tiny shards that could net her only a few cool mobiums.

"This is how it ends, huh?" Alice yelled back while they all made for the door. "No problem with me! Enjoy your riches wherever you're going, you hateful devil!" Nisaya did not care, or perhaps had not heard; she kept steadily at her scavenging. After Star's wide frame had been gingerly angled through the door and while they were all descending the stairs, Paint peered back with worry, but sighed with a great sadness and just went on. _It's not your problem, Paint. Leave her. Your mother sacrificed herself for the boy she loved with all her heart so any children they had wouldn't have to._

They ran down the stairs, each jumping a lower one that was already nearly consumed with flames. Arrowhead happened to see one of Alice's quills burning, so he licked his finger and put it out, and he smiled her gratitude back at him. The last door was easier than the first - Paint reared back and punched it open, for once attentive enough to the current moment not to try the metal door handle.

When they burst out of the building, collectively coughing out enough breaths to power an old-time steamboat, they were greeted with joyous cheers from the other captives - and even from Nettle. A quick head count showed that everyone besides their former female captor had been saved.

"Nice job, buddy!" said Maxwell, punching Arrowhead affectionately with his good arm. "Oh, and you too, pup!" - and he did the same to Paint. She cried with joy and nuzzled him, quietly responding, "Thanks, Max. I knew you _wood_ think so." He shot her a dark glance for the unwelcome speech form, but this turned out entirely facetious as he laughed it off and hugged her again. Jewel poked his head out from behind and waved hello as well.

Nettle, however, was squirming uncomfortably as he was held in place by Kitokcha, Caroline, and a few of the boys. He bit his lip and stared at the quickly decomposing building.

"Paint! Alice!" he yelled out, and they turned to him. "What's Nisaya doing?! She said she'd only be a minute!"

Paint stared into his helpless eyes and saw a fear inside she couldn't bear to leave alone. Nisaya wasn't coming out, and she couldn't just leave her to die. It was wrong. Every one of her breaths more fiery than any of the termite competition tearing the building down as they spoke, she answered back, "Not... enough." Before anyone could stop her, she sprinted back inside.

"Wait!" he cried out.

Her own brother wanted to abandon her to burn to death? Not on Paint's watch. "I'm going!" she seethed back to him and continued her march in.

"No, not that! I'm coming with you!" He shook the Mobian and human children off his arms and stormed into the building with her.

"You can't do this, Paint!" Alice cried despairingly.

The last thing she heard before entering was Arrowhead's prognosis to Alice - as best as it was audible over the crackling beams and walls: "M-maybe it's not rational, but you can't stop her at a time like this. I've tried. I hate it about her... and I love it about her."

Nisaya's brother and worst-behaved worker sprinted up the stairs, deftly avoiding the cutting flames and keeping their heads low to avoid the accumulating smoke. They slipped past the door Arrowhead had, in its weakened state, shoved aside, and scanned all around for their quarry. She was not in the room Star had first been kept in, nor in that where Alice had, although in the latter the shelf did appear to have been ransacked. In fact, she did not appear to occupy any point in the infernal landscape... until their sight and hearing were faintly alerted.

"Neeeeettllllle," her voice wheezed out. They spun around and there she was: trapped under a flaming wooden beam that had fallen from the eroding ceiling. Sure enough, diamond shards - most of them tiny - and other mostly negligible valuables were in her immediate vicinity.

Nettle perked up at seeing her. "Don't worry; we'll get you out!" he shouted. He touched the beam with the intention of giving it a hearty shove, but yelped at his burned fingers. Growling, he and Paint simply grinned and bore it, shoving it off of her as quickly as possible and picking her up together. Whether or not she had experienced a back injury, she might not have been in the strongest state. Paint tossed aside the old adage about disposability of material possessions during fires and, with her free hand, picked up whatever diamonds and things she could scoop up with one motion of her hand.

Nisaya coughed violently and closed her eyes, so Paint and Nettle locked eyes, nodded, and made a run for it. As they moved, beams from the ceilings and walls began chipping and dropping all around them. With a deft swipe of his free arm, Nettle scooped up his sister's favorite jacket from the hanger, leaving the structure to fall and crack into flames behind them.

They held their breaths and jumped into the last leg of the escape. At first the stairs seemed to have been relatively unscathed by the calamity, but the last five had been engulfed by the blaze, entirely unsuitable for touching. They clutched her fur as tightly as they could and leapt for it, landing safely on their feet. Finally, they hopped out through the front door and tumbled onto the safe, cool, dewy grass. The others cheered once again, even more loudly and warmly.

Paint coughed out the soot from her mouth, and her lungs took in the fresh oxygen joyfully. Nettle did the same, and they both examined Nisaya - she was unconscious from exhaustion, but breathing normally once again. They dropped her possessions on the ground and sighed from their gigantic relief.

Nettle kissed his sister on the forehead, turned to Paint, and gave her a tearful, grateful hug. "Th-thank you, Paint," he blubbered almost inaudibly. "Things li-ike this... w-we never should've entered this line of work."

Was he a changed man this easily? Would she awaken a changed woman? Unlikely, but Paint didn't care. "No problem!" she said. "It'd be pretty awful for me to deny freedom and life to your closest companion after seeking it so hard for us, right? Well, I mean, uh..." Alice was leaning into the two wolves, bearing an unequivocal, contemptuous scowl and a couple of shiny objects - probably not the type Chives might fawn over.

"Paint, you're way too nice," she seethed in the wolves' direction. Nettle's smile at seeing his sister alive and safe fell, and he looked around him to see the other prisoners standing guard with similar degrees of castigation spread across their faces. This wouldn't be good. "Stand up and turn her onto her back, Nettle."

Finally defeated for real, he groaned and did as instructed.

"Good," Alice commanded, "now stand still." She brandished those familiar devices, two pairs of handcuffs, which must have been recovered from inside at some point, and locked both of their wrists behind their backs. Satisfied, she gave Nettle a hard slap on the side of the head. It looked like it stung, and he rubbed it tenderly with his shoulder.

That didn't look enjoyable. "A-Alice, are you sure this-" asked Paint timidly. She shifted nervously from foot to foot and looked her two-time former cellmate in the eye.

"You're right. Not needed. But it's still important that we turn them in, right?" she challenged.

"I guess..." Paint muttered, kneading the soft ground with one toe.

"Come on, everyone," Alice spoke, more loudly, motioning to the whole area - "go gather up your stuff - we're getting outta here!"

The crowd cheered out their triumph. They'd done it. They left the still-burning administrative building - which had by this point been reduced to a deteriorated, malnourished frame with some ugly, jagged slabs of wall clinging to it - behind them as they marched off to prepare for their retreats to their respective homes. That was it - the wolves' child-labor operation was over.

Half an hour later, everyone was gathered in front of the truck that had delivered them. Besides their individual belongings - Cayne's worn, long-loved blanket; Caroline's clothes and pocket-sized pictures of her loved ones; Kitokcha's brushes - they made sure to pillage from the various buildings enough snacks for a long trip and enough carbonated soft drinks to drive through the long night unwearied. A request from Nettle for their videos implored Paint to carry them all up in a swaying stack, plus a portable, battery-powered player for them. A lick of her strange, trans-kingdom saliva fixed up the spine of one case that appeared about ready to fall apart.

A couple of the older boys foisted the wolves into the trailer; they had to team together to lift Nisaya, who was still asleep. The respective backpacks of Paint and co. were still inside, and she mused that it might be nice to have them up front in the cab, but an additional quick look at the carpooling party reminded her that their game of body-tangrams would be plenty onerous without additional belongings to add to the difficulty rating. Guided by the two boys, Star climbed into the trailer beside them, and Paint made sure to deliver the wolves their standard entertainment.

Before they could pile in, Maxwell realized that he did possess one question: "Okay, kiddies, who's gonna be driving? I'm happy to be chauffeured around, but" - he tenderly massaged his injured region - "I'm not exactly ready to be doing it myself anyway." One of the two who had accompanied the wolves to their humble, perhaps unfairly spacious chariot nodded, pulled open the door - he could barely reach it - and took the wheel; he nodded once more and the children began constellating themselves in the most ergonomic matter possible considering that there were a good dozen or so.

Paint placed her rear end delicately down in the passenger seat, right between Arrowhead and Cayne. The ignition was turned; the engine raised to a gentle, soothing hum; the gear shift set to drive; and the atmosphere sublimely calmed. The children's loving homes would have to worry no longer. And soon enough, Yakhtanmantannji would be a reality.

Paint, Arrowhead, Maxwell, Jewel, and Star were on the road again, and they'd rerouted a few new friends back on their own respective journeys to boot. Tails was still a long way away, but for this much, positioned snugly with one arm around the shoulder of her most chipper newtime friend and one her longest-lasting best friend, Paint could drift off to sleep happy.

**END OF PART TWO**


	65. Chapter 65

"You want to stay my friend, right?"

"Yeah, but I wish you'd stop relying on pleas like this when our friendship obviously isn't at stake..."

"Then why can't I drive? I'm as capable as you are - moreover, how do I know your hands won't be too slimy to do it?" she challenged playfully.

"I trust you. But you were the one who said you were tired earlier..."

"Ah, yes, but that was indeed _earlier_, Arrow. Half a bottle of soda and one rush of the adventuring spirit that drove my vulpine ancestors to dominate the pre-human technological world later, I'm plenty ready!"

"That's fine," he sighed. The cool autumn wind might have served as a pleasing scenic addition to the experience of traversing a continent for the first time under normal circumstances, but sunrise of a particularly cool morning didn't quite qualify as "normal circumstances". Arrowhead shivered at length, hugging his own arms... but she was only standing there helplessly. "P-Paint, what are you doing? We've stretched our legs just fine by now. I wanna go back inside with everyone else."

She rotated her head back, a bit embarrassed, keeping her body oriented toward the high door. "Uh... can I get a boost?"

He chuckled and clenched her sides. "I can try. Again, you're the muscles of us two, which tells me that I'm better suited for this job..."

A bad move - he ought to have known she could never resist an opportunity to improve him. "Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?" she chortled. "C'mon, Arrow, lift! Without building up those toad biceps to be as tough as your weird current reticence to do so, how are you gonna rescue me from mean ol' Dr. Eggman? How are you gonna wrench open the long-forgotten, hopelessly rusted door to Morris' vault while I fiddle with the key? How are you gonna sweep me off my feet and address me lovingly with a botanically sensible term of endearment?"

His continued, more naturally cascading laughter confirmed to her that he really had missed this, had missed her. His arms twitched while extending to get her up and he grunted quietly in proof of his efforts; she eagerly scurried up into the driver's seat and helpfully pulled him up to sit beside her. Although she thereafter positioned herself for a long, exciting leg of the journey, she would have let him drive in a second if he had really wanted.

She surveyed the inside of the cabin. Who remained? Besides Maxwell and Jewel, who would be sticking with them for quite a while longer, Caroline, Cayne, and Alice were all still packed in - although everyone had a little more space than before and was thus able to sleep a little more soundly.

She was glad she wouldn't have to wake them to remind herself of their addresses: a faintly crumpled sheet of paper with everyone's destination was rolled up in one of the cup holders. She pulled it open and checked the next entry on the list: _Caroline: __Earth Research Settlement #6, Tarektatu Road, Mushroom Hill Zone, Central Province, Adagestli_.

Arrowhead having quickly fallen back asleep with the others, Paint would be in the ironic position of map-reader. She pulled out Morris' old map and found where she was heading to drop her sole human friend off without much trouble - this would only be a few hours away. She thanked her stars - ironically, just about everyone _but_ Star and her other fellow long-run travelers - that their handwriting was all mostly legible; it would have been a disaster, losing its comedy value after a short while, if Paint had tried transcribing everyone's words herself.

_Mushroom Hill Zone, got it__. _For now, she would simply be able to enjoy the novel scenery. As the mostly-former captives' addresses had been arranged in a general, improvised best-fit line trailing off from the mine, the transition between biomes and topography would be generally gradual and progressive. The great longitudinal and latitudinal variation of the continent of Adagestli, while in some respects a chore to traverse, made for a great journey without - yet - having to cross the ocean.

Nisaya and Nettle could be dropped off at the police station of a sufficiently large and developed city whenever such a city came into view, where they could also refuel the truck - the gas tank, while still at a comfortable fullness, could stand for more. Until such a time, she could simply feed them and let them out under close supervision by her and Star, with their seemingly discomforting wrist restraints in place, to stretch their legs and for bathroom breaks, as she had done once so far during the night. Nisaya had been groggy and spit in her eye, but Nettle had seemed to appreciate her kindness to the two even in a position of power and putative moral superiority. Even through her vivid recollections of having been kept locked up like an animal... wrongdoer, as opposed to an autonomous animal like she usually was, she was saddened that they would be transferred to a judicial system that would undoubtedly be less forgiving, though likely not as draconian and barbaric as Sunny Clearing's had been.

It was a shame she was the only one awake during the drive, because the views were absolutely stunning. Slowly but surely, the road began to gnarl around the shallow hills, unveiling different pieces of natural artwork with its turns. Her left flank was marked by fields dotted with shrubs, with a forest beginning maybe half a mile from the road and calm, tempered mountains far beyond into the grey sky. On her right, however, the forest was much closer, but when it periodically thinned out or the hills the road winded along allowed her a glimpse of what lay beyond, she saw great gorges and valleys - ancient, wise, and evincing of great experience and hardship like the wrinkles on a thousand-year-old god's forehead.

She wondered if there was a radio connection way out here - of course, having been given only brief training in driving along with everyone else shortly after leaving the complex, she knew nothing of the button library of this cockpit. True to her exploratory nature, she immediately jammed on the dashboard button that looked right and fiddled with the knobs. Her ears were greeted with a clamorous static - and it seemed a bit too consistent in quality to have really been arcane avant-garde music. The others might wake up, so she panicked and adjusted the knob marked "volume". The noise quieted down and no one appeared to have been rattled into heir groggy anger, so she was free to explore other frequencies.

A clockwise rotation of about forty-five degrees showed her some kind of news broadcast, public service announcement, or perhaps merely a droll, impersonal talk show. "...hi... hide in... you m... Egg... and his... don't... twen... hours... until we... -onic has not... and... nor Tai... be on..." No good - she could barely make out any of it. It was no wonder, she reasoned, that most people in Sunny Clearing, particularly Arrowhead's family and loyal student Amethyst, preferred books over radio.

Well, she wouldn't give up quite that easily. More turning of the dial rewarded her with a music station she could hear fairly well, with only minor crackling hindering a good listen. Perhaps the nearest radio tower - and with it, civilization - wasn't quite so distant after all. It was a mellow, optimistic-sounding alternative rock song. The guitarist spun out jangly, clean riffs while the bassist and drummer kept faithfully up, and the vocalist sang something in a high-pitched whine about meeting an old friend. Paint liked it, so she eased the volume up a few degrees and comfortably rocked out to it with her foot still planted on the gas pedal and her eyes on the winding road.

_Here you are again  
__I just can't imagine what it  
__Must've been to leave  
__Here you are again  
__For us it just hasn't cut it  
__But now I won't bereave_

_Next time maybe I'll know  
__Something I could never have learned  
__Maybe now I'll show  
__You the hopes and dreams I've mastered  
__Here you are again__  
__Here you are again_

Mushroom Hill would arrive in time. Lots of things would, albeit on an extended basis. For now, she could simply enjoy the treats to her senses and Caroline's company.


	66. Chapter 66

**Author's note: I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I just removed my Christmas carol fic the other day, when I was alerted that it counted as a script fic, which apparently are against the rules here. That rule really angers me - I don't think "quality", whatever that means, should be a criterion for what's allowed to stay up, and even if it were, the very _format_ of a story is hardly an adequate gauge. Whatever, perhaps that'll be the motivation I need to actually try my hand at a _Sonic_ fic of a different style (not abandoning this one; don't worry) or one of a different franchise. Maybe _Pokémon_? Hmm.**

**Oh, and this is kind of an odd situation for me to be in, but this chapter and the next one were originally one single chapter, well over four thousand words and still not close to done. I decided to split it as I felt the pressure to keep it within reasonable constraints for what someone can read at once was weakening my writing, so have this for the time being, and I'll be working on part two now.**

As the sunrise bleached out of the canvas of the sky, its colors trickled onto the ground and all around the foliage like lazy raindrops on an off-day. Mushroom Hill was saturated with the vibrant hues of autumn a bit early this year - it was beginning to seem it had always been this way.

Of course, the artist gods who had created this landscape had not been satisfied with a mere change of palette: mushrooms of all shapes and sizes were dotted generously around. Perhaps the same types of mushrooms the original adventurers had been assigned were out there somewhere - Paint struggled to remember hers, _something Silver-icus_. Arrowhead would know.

In fact, the hilly topography and copious biological decoration were just _so_ inviting to the eyes, Paint almost didn't notice a giant log spread across the road. She did luckily notice it before it could cause any kind of accident, but had to slam on the brakes, grinding the truck to a startled halt. "Whoa!" she instinctively shouted.

She was fine - she had her seatbelt on, as did Caroline, and everyone else was either positioned comfortably on the floor or tight up against a wall to begin with or had fallen down that way in their sleep. However, their safety did not keep them from becoming awake... and annoyed.

"Gee, Paint," Maxwell groaned as he came to, "were you picking your nose the whole time instead of paying attention back in drivers' ed? I knew you were lucky to slip by with a D-plus."

Caroline yawned shakily, but was still apt to come to her defense. "It probably wasn't her fault," she reasoned. "I was one of only a few of us who knew how to drive - not including you, Maxwell - and if you can remember, we didn't teach you anything but the basics of the steering wheel, pedals, and gear shift. ...Although she may have learned something else along the way."

At that moment, Paint realized the radio was still faintly on - some kind of song with two men rapping over a mellow beat; she hadn't been paying much attention - so she quickly flicked it off with the same toggle from before.

Maxwell sat up and craned his neck to see the obstruction. "Anyone got any ideas about passing this thing?" he wondered out loud. "Jewel? Help us out here, buddy?"

Jewel stared at it. "Me neither... I don't know; we could push it, maybe... although we'd have to be gentle about it."

"I doubt it. It's got to be really heavy," offered Arrowhead, his brow furrowed in thought. "I mean, and judging by the way the roots are so disheveled and the arrangement of dirt near it, it was probably uprooted pretty recently - so it's not going to have been hollowed out by termites or some kind of fungal decay..."

Paint considered the problem from a mathematical angle, but came up just as short. "Yeah, and the angle isn't right. The trunk's not thick enough for the truck's wheels or front to get much leverage and apply its force, even considering how massive this thing is and how much acceleration it can generate." Force equals mass times acceleration - she remained glad she had pored over Arrowhead's parents' books so often back home to work up some number sense, but as usual, it wasn't helping her out much in the real world.

Alice had an idea, though the key word here appeared to bring a shiver to her voice: "I wonder if there are any _tools_ we might use to move it - I don't know, maybe we have something that could work as a... a... hey, what do you call those things at the front of some train locomotives?"

"...Cowcatchers? That's unlikely," Arrowhead muttered as he rolled his eyes around the cabin for some kind of inspiration. "I don't think pushing it out of the way's gonna be an option..."

Cayne piped up with something. "Hey, I have an idea!" All eyes were on her. "What about pulling? Do we have some kind of cable or rope or something?"

"I like that kinda thinking," Paint said, "and there could be some rope somewhere, but I don't think it'd hold up to the strain, even if we roped it ultra-tight. Man, some kinda telekinetic abilities would be really helpful here..."

Alice looked rather grumpy until an idea hit her: "Well... I have to admit, I'd be a little uncomfortable with handling those things again, but we _do_ still have those sturdy metal chains that we were... you know..."

Paint brightened up at that. "Hey, yeah! I think those are in the back somewhere. I'll go check 'em out."

"Hey." A snarl returned to Alice's face, a bit concerning in its sudden appearance and twisted shape, although it didn't quite seem to be directed at anyone in the immediate vicinity. "The wolves are unrestrained back there, and I'm not letting them get away. Let's make sure we... supervise them."

"What about Star?" a confused Cayne suggested. She was timid and submissive in her delivery of the question, seeming to feel she'd missed something obvious. "Doesn't it have a rocket gun or something in its arm, that it could use to threaten those two away from escaping? I thought I saw one..." she added.

"Nothing like a good round of lead to stop a guy in his tracks," Maxwell confirmed, satisfied with the idea.

Paint giggled, turning faintly red as she remembered a problem with that. "Uheheheh... those two may have kinda put it out of commission. I- I mean, _Star_'s fine, but they took all its bullets out and I kinda spaced helping our little guard load 'em back in."

"...Why am I not surprised?" Maxwell sighed.

"Good thing we have a backup plan, then."

Everyone in the cabin looked curiously at Alice, who had commanded their attention quite deeply with but a few words. She nodded and reached behind the driver's seat to retrieve a cold-looking rifle. Shudders rippled through the group - even Maxwell looked to be reconsidering his grandiose attitude about using a gun as force. Alice, while not abandoning her determination about the general idea, absorbed a little of the room's air as well. "Well... I- I mean, I don't mean actually shoot them. Just... scare them, that's all. I- if it comes to that."

But she did silently take it along as she, Maxwell, and Jewel dropped out through the passenger door to retrieve the chains. Arrowhead could only smile optimistically, a gesture Paint happily returned. She flicked the radio back into commission. The rap song from earlier had ended and there were only static-y commercials as an interlude, which she was happy to have as a distraction - something about the season finale of a crime drama television series, airing at nine p.m. on Fridays, eastern Adagestli time.

"Oh, I always wanted to see that," Caroline spoke over the announcer's quick, dramatic voice. "I think Dad might've liked it - when he had time for TV, anyway."

_He's got to be worried sick about her_, Paint thought as she looked over the human's tired, yet stubbornly optimistic eyes. "Hey, Arrow?"

"What is it?"

"You haven't seen a cellphone or anything in here, have you?"

"No, why?"

"Well... I thought it might be kinda cool to give Caroline's folks a bit of a heads-up."

He sighed and gave her the most forlorn look she'd ever seen out of him in quite some time. Her words hadn't quite been _offensive_, exactly, but they did serve as a reminder of an unsatisfying logistical situation. "Yeah... it might be. But I'd be letting my _own_ parents know what we've been up to if there were any way to."

Paint breathed deeply, taking in and internalizing all of the sensory streaks from their surroundings - the strange and bizarrely colored landscape, the dusty and foreign smell from outside the cracked-open window, the near-complete and enveloping environmental silence aside from leaves rustling around, the commercials blaring on, and the chains being retrieved from the trailer. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyelids sank shut. _What are we even doing here?_, she wondered. _I'm glad we were able to rescue all these others together, but is this trip really making itself worth it for us otherwise? We've been placed in such discomfort, such danger, such anguish. At what cost have I dragged my best friends along on my own vain adventure? I mean, I love them, I enjoy spending all this time with them, and they seemed excited enough at first, but is this really for them? I just..._

"You know," Caroline pointed out, "we have a telephone at home, if you need to speak with anyone. I'm sure no one would mind."

Shrieks of joy from the others were her reward for the simple admission. _Home_. The concept was absolutely beautiful.

Paint decided with little deliberation that she would be able to postpone her worrying for a while, perhaps even shelve it altogether. Clear, colorful visions of the lazy, sprawling town planning of Sunny Clearing danced invitingly in her head. She noted the irony of this new development, which she was reacting to with such fond nostalgia, serving really as more of an excuse not to give up and return, but reasoned that calling home would actually reconnect them more quickly than pulling some kind of exhausted, defeated drive all the way back with nothing to show for themselves but a new ride and an injured wing. Anchoring and adventure: they could have both.

She was shaken out of her introspective anti-gravity chamber by Alice's voice from outside. "Paint, we've got it!" Indeed, with three chains hooked together, forming a single strand looped over itself for strength, there was enough to wrap around the widest extent of the roots, and then around the whole tree trunk, and connect back to the grill of the truck, finally allowing them to access its substantial power. Maxwell and Jewel were teaming up to do just that: as Paint looked up to check on their progress, they were shimmying the chain loop on as far as it would go.

She silenced the radio, rolled down the window, and poked her head out. "Are we good?" she shouted out to Alice.

"Yeah! Time to pull!" Alice's two cohorts stepped a safe few meters out of the way, leaning hesitantly against a couple of shrubs off to the road's side.

Check. She nodded, checked the rearview mirror for any potential traffic - of course, there was none on a stretch of road as tragically desolate as this - shifted the gear to "reverse", and eased on the accelerator. The force was at first insufficient - the massive trunk didn't budge an inch, so she would have to proceed at a high velocity. When she stepped harder, though, the tree yielded to her determination to deliver Caroline safely home, torquing with its right end toward her and the intersection of the left end with the rough, gravelly roadside acting as a pivot. It was encouraging, rather like a great big door's thunderous opening.

She guided the truck back into a stop, set the gear-shift to "park", and called out, "Ready to roll!" The three laborers returned the chains to their home and then obediently hopped back in, with Caroline pressing her body against the seat's back to accommodate them. The cabin was cramped once again - Alice's muffled "Cayne! Get your butt off my head!" was the only victory cry around to herald their progress - but she didn't mind at all, especially not with Arrowhead being pressed up against her in the re-seating ordeal.

"How were the wolves?" Paint asked to the three who had seen them.

"Well," Jewel mumbled, "they didn't look so comfortable back there, but I guess they-"

"They're fine," Alice answered. "Now let's go."

And they did. It was only a short drive from then on, but it was a peaceful one - well, mostly. A few more instances of ravaged land did make themselves visible: a few more downed trees that were kind enough not to obstruct their driving once again; violently gnashed trees, shrubs, and mushroom stalks besides; a few noticeable indentations in the tarmac; things like that. Paint would have been lying to herself if she had told herself it wasn't seeming to become more frequent, but this would make sense if the journey were indeed getting more monotonous, as it was; the stretches of driving without such oddities would feel shorter and shorter.

Unconcerned, Caroline noticed and called out a different type of landmark. "Oh, hey! Paint! Turn here - left!"

There was a road splintering off, the first one she had noticed in some time. Nodding to her navigator and passenger, she ground the truck's eighteen sturdy wheels to a halt and turned a leisurely ninety degrees onto the road. It was narrower, more winding, more hilly, and bordered more closely on either side by a thicker canopy of mushrooms and giant trees than anything she had been tasked with driving before, but she found it easy to adapt to the topography and enjoy the sights besides. _This would make a neat level for a video game_, she mused.

After only a drive of perhaps ten minutes along this road, she happened upon another, which jutted off exclusively to the left. A sign marked it, and though the wood had chipped in a few crucial-looking places, the basic letter-forms were still there: "TAREKTATU RD".

"Got all your stuff?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do!" the human exclaimed, patting a small stack of items crammed into a corner with the tip of her shoe. "I'd rather not admit it considering... you know, but I _am_ just a little bit grateful to the wolves for actually getting me some more clothes and nice-smelling shampoos while they were out on their own business." Though she did not speak her thoughts out loud, Paint too felt fortunate that she would not need to open up the truck's rear and expose Caroline's kidnappers to her loved ones, even with proper context explained with the most machine-gun of words. Nothing good would come of that.

"It _is_ nice!" squealed Cayne. She scratched the girl's hair gently, enjoying the smooth sensation of her silky auburn strands - a sensation especially foreign to herself. Caroline resisted for a few seconds, but rapidly changed her mind and lurched into a warm hug of her Mobian friend. Paint the vehicle attendant not included, everyone else joined in.

Managing not to shake them off too violently, Caroline suddenly leaned forward and laughed wildly. "That's it, that's iiiiit!" she shouted. A building approached, baring more and more of itself through the colossal tree and mushroom stalks as they neared it. It occupied a niche between the futuristic and the natural, its architecture being strange, jagged, and needlessly artistic in form but its roofs being covered by mushrooms and plants - presumably for aesthetics and/or heat management. Paint had never seen anything like it... and she thought it looked great.

"Sweet!" chirped Paint with an excited grin as she pulled into the thin gravel driveway and parked. She turned to her right and asked to her fellow, perhaps more with-it passengers, "Uh... how do I honk again?" Honking was something vehicles did, right?

"Paint not knowing how to be noisy?!" Maxwell gasped with exaggerated astonishment. "Uh, is today Opposite Day or something? If so... I'm totally not shocked!" Jewel betrayed a faint chuckle, but helpfully thrust the weight of his fist down on the steering wheel's center anyway. The vehicle blurted out a giant noise, something like that from a giant kazoo employed as a comical prop in a circus, and sure enough, after a short time, a man came to the door.


	67. Chapter 67

**Author's note: Part two of what was originally a single chapter. Oh, and here's the first canonical (not in a dream) appearance of non-original _Sonic_ characters in this fic; that's something. It's weird - since I hadn't actually read that many fanfics when I started _DKYD _months ago, I assumed creating a large cast of characters (even dozens of them, like I have) all one's own and then merging them with the established cast later was something people actually did, and... well, not so much. Well, thanks for sticking with this, then! I don't personally find it hard to get into other people's OCs, but I've heard a fic relying on them can be a deterrent to picking it up. Oh, well. Anyway, enjoy!**

Mr. Schlosser, a human of course, had on loose-fitting pajama pants, an oversized T-shirt with some kind of scientific association's logo, and slippers. His wearied eyes looked like they'd been socked by a bully once a day, building up a gradual if incomplete immunity over time, and his hair, messy as it was, bore an unmistakable resemblance in hue to Caroline's. He appeared confused by the presence of a giant truck way out in his corner of nowhere-land, and he squinted, annoyed, at the truck's windshield to try and make its inhabitants out.

When his eyes reached Paint and the other animal occupants, he looked confused more than anything, but seeing and recognizing his daughter electrified him into a frenzied sprint toward the passenger door. She quickly pushed it open and ran toward him. "DADDY!" she shouted as if nothing else were enough.

"CAROLINE!" She fell into her father's arms, and they sobbed out enough tears to fill a respectable kiddie pool, and he almost inaudibly continued to whisper her name over their communal emotional clamor. Eventually he managed to pull himself up into articulacy, whereupon he began with the standard reuniting questions. "Caroline, wh-what happened?! You were just... and then... and then you... you...?"

She pointed back at the truck and smiled. Arrowhead was unsure of an appropriate reaction, but Paint, naturally inclined toward the more social, nudged him to come with her and left the vehicle as well. The others hopped out, too.

He didn't get it. "Who are they?" He detached himself from his precious daughter and stepped out with his back to her, baring the first hot breaths of anger at the strange intruders. "Did you run off with them? Did they kidnap you?!"

"No, no, they didn't!" She ran up and clenched his bicep. "A couple of weird wolves abducted me - me _and_ them! They _rescued_ me!"

Not the type to challenge his daughter's word, Papa bear ceded his anger. "Well... as long as you're okay now. We'll have to-" - and his words halted when he got a closer look at Paint.

"Hey, you look... familiar." He knelt down and stared into her eyes. "You're not... would your parents happen to have been named 'Tails' and... and..." He struggled to recall the second name, but she was elated enough to have her ancestry recognized.

"Cosmo? Yeah, that's me!" He recognized that name, too. "Paint the Seedrian-Fox," she announced, "visionary; adventurer; humble knight of Sunny Clearing, Kattekara District, Techokko Province; defender of freedom wherever and whenever she and her best friends can stir it up! At your service!"

He leaned back and laughed with a hearty but good-natured vigor at her always-morphing self-introduction, but Caroline saw perhaps more malice in it than Paint did. "Can they use our phone?" she interjected.

"What? Sure, I don't see why not." Father and daughter rollicked inside, beckoning the animals to come in with them. They all obliged, making sure to bring Caroline's belongings in as well. Paint felt bad about having to leave Star out in the truck rather than letting it meet a new face, but bringing it along would only cause more problems. She cursed the unfairness of the world, but the thought evaporated in a blink's time as the building's full inside opened up around her.

Earth Research Settlement #6 of Tarektatu Road was an even more interesting sight inside than out-. _So this is what humans live in_, she marveled. The domain of the human creatures, who had brought what Mobius now knew as modern technology and the single, worldwide "Mobian" language, all those years ago was foreign and exciting to her, and so she scrutinized each detail like a careful brushstroke whose purpose was existent but not quite known in a classic work of acrylics.

The foyer led off to the left, front, diagonal front-right, and right, all of these doorways into, in alternation, cozy rooms and sterile corridors. The walls, wise and mahogany all around, were decorated austerely with maps of Earth and Mobius and fine art that seemed to have come from both worlds, as well as objects more tied to the scientific activities: sticky notes; charts; diagrams; old recordings of seismic and atmospheric activity. Eventually she could restrain herself no longer; she darted from piece to piece, taking it all in to the extent her energetic pupils and cortex could.

"Uh, Paint?" Alice prodded, poking her on the shoulder. She spun around at attention - her flicking tails almost knocked over an expensive vase in the process, but she deftly grabbed it and returned it to a safe upright position, grinning warmly at her success. Caroline's father took only an ephemeral and coolly mild interest in the event before returning to some kind of conversation with Arrowhead, whom he seemed charmed by. She was glad that his interests were matching up to some degree with this human's, and returned her focus to Alice.

"Yeah?"

"We've got the phone." She pointed out a nonchalant Caroline standing in the doorway with a cellphone.

"Wow, cool! Here, let's get your house first - yours and then Cayne's. No such thing as too much notice given, eh?" She pulled the sluggish hedgehog over by the arm, grabbed the receiver, and thrust it into Alice's open hand, expectantly awaiting a dial. Alice chuckled quietly and accepted, managing to keep Paint's hand firmly clenched within her own.

"Mom? ...Yeah, it's me! ...Yes, I'm safe! ...Uh-huh! ...No, I didn't run away out of angsty teenage spite, Mom. ...Right... ...Yes, I'm sorry for keeping you worrying so long; you can call off the search as soon as we're done here. ...No, it's not _about_ a cute girl, although I certainly have been lucky, haha... Yeah... ...I don't care what flavor you make; I'll just be happy to see you... ...Yes, they're going to get me home as soon as you can - but lest you forget, Mom, that was the same attitude that _got_ me into this mess in the first place..."

The conversation carried on in near form. When she was done, Cayne carried out her own shout home, giggling wildly all the way while talking to a parent and what Paint guessed were a couple of younger brothers. She was taking her sweet time, but who could complain? Paint only wished she had remembered to collect some kind of numbers in Little Apple - Solakku would surely be interested in their excursions since they had last met.

In the meantime, Paint was getting a little restless. Jewel and Maxwell had joined in the engaging conversation with Mr. Schlosser, and Caroline had disappeared somewhere, so she poked Alice in the back for attention.

"Yeah?" asked the girl, who had been studying the map of Mobius, her eyes trained on the obscured, forgotten interior of Techokko from which her friends originated - the supposed "Sunny Clearing" was not nearly major enough to show, and even Kattekara District was a small little fragment. She was more graceful at spinning around to face a speaker than Paint had been, but hardly less excited.

"Well, you know that Arrow, Jewel, and Max, plus Star, are my usual cluster of vagabonds... but here we are with nothing to do. Wanna go snoop around?"

"Sure thing." They traipsed into the hallway off to their left, the most sterile and enticing - as an alien spacecraft might be - of all of the available passages. It was lit by pure-white fluorescent fixtures and bared several additional, equally scientific-looking corridors across its short length. One of the rooms featured some easily visible, brightly colored computer monitors, graphs, charts, and running seismographs in its small, enclosed body, so they gravitated instinctively to that - rather like Chives, who had been one of the first to drop off at home and had departed with little fanfare.

Before long, an annoying, erratic, staccato beeping noise made itself known to their ears. "Hey, Alice, mind turning that clatter off?" Paint whined distractedly. "Avant-garde music is terribly undervalued these days, heh, but I... uh..."

"Probably shouldn't; it isn't ours to," Alice replied. But that was alright; Paint was paying only half attention, the greater half preoccupied by staring at all the neat pictures and stylized text on the computer screens - naturally; back at home, it wasn't every day she saw and used an electronic display monitor of any kind. One in particular caught her eye: an email. This had to be Mr. Schlosser's computer, and he had left his inbox open. A couple of pop-up ads of barely clad human women, playing cards, and gambling chips were plenty showy on the margins, but the text was somehow more interesting.

_Hey, Tom,_

_First of all, I know you're hurting about Caroline. I can't possibly imagine in the darkest reaches of my heart how you must feel, but it is NOT your fault, so stop thinking that. The fact is, we have zero clues on what could've happened to her - and that includes no evidence that she's been harmed. Remember, Tom, we're scientists, and we don't profess belief in anything without evidence. The police haven't found anything, but they're not widely known for their competence anyway (I'm a tolerant man, but I don't know if we'd be in this situation if we had humans doing the job...), so there's still a great chance your little girl's out there somewhere. It could be a cry for help - Baretch knows (that's what their main god is called, right? Never bothered to pay attention...) I would've been the same in my youth. I'm not telling you not to worry, only not to keep your distance from hope yet._

_Anyway, enough of that; I'm starting to depress myself. How would you feel about coming to see me for a few days this fall, just to catch up? It's such a shame how rarely we get to see each other since grad school way back when. Last I heard, Martha was going to get back to your home in a few days, so there'll be someone around in case Caroline comes dragging her feet back. Electric City's beautiful in the fall, and the Babylon Rogues are going to be back in town for the big racing tournament in a few weeks. You can drive me home when I'm toppling over and unable to connect words in coherent sentences, just like the old days!_

_Oh, and let me know how those initial radiation tests go. Remember: 30 mL for three hours - that's your end. I'll send you the scans of what my team gets whenever we're finished._

_Hopefully yours soon (assuming you can manage to ditch that woman for a spell - I kid, I kid!),  
Dr. (and don't you forget it!) Henry Mikolajczak_

"Paint? Paint!" Mr. Schlosser called from the doorway. Alice was standing beside him, not the least bit startled.

"Wha-wha-wha-wha-what?" She couldn't improvise a way to make her eavesdropping look remotely suave, so she merely settled for her cutely inattentive angle.

"Didn't think you could give _me_ a bit of a chance to get to my own inbox first there, haha?"

Her ears drooped, and she gazed at the floor. "I'm sorry." She wouldn't personally have minded, but cursed herself for not remembering to be cognizant of the fact that others do.

"That's alright, but I thought you'd want to know your friend Cayne's done with her call, and your boyf- ...your other friend Arrowhead's on the line now. Sounds like you may be up to the batter's box soon."

"Really? Cool, thanks!" she shouted. She bounded back into the lobby, where Arrowhead was, just as described, involved in an energetic conversation.

"Yes, Mom," he sighed, exasperated yet in good spirits, "w-we're all doing fine. ...Well, Max got his wing injured in an... an accident, but we're gonna get that fixed as soon as we can - i-it's healing already. ...No. ...Well, yeah, but I ju-... _No_, Star has not betrayed us! It's still defending us just fine, and we still love it. I... Yeah... ...Well, we're calling from the house of a new friend - she's a human! ...But that's not fair - there are good humans, just like there are good Metarex! ...Yeah, I know... But Dad just got off the phone; he's... Oh... Yeah, I can get her." He removed the device from his cheek and pondered over pressing a button to set it into some kind of on-hold state, but decided quickly against it. He swiveled his eyes over to Paint and confirmed, "Paint? My mom wants to talk to you."

What could this be about? She took it from him and entered the conversation herself.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Paint! Hi!"

"Hey! How are you doing?"

"Wow, it's adorable that you haven't abandoned your congenial, stalwart determination to pretend to care! ...Oh, I'm just joking, Paint. My husband and I are carrying on just fine as always - obviously, we've been missing our son greatly, but somehow this whole little kibbutz of ours is a lot quieter and lifeless without our favorite vixen running around to keep the communal energy level up."

"Yeah, I sure am a handful... but hey, don't fret too hard! I mean, we haven't exactly quite reached our first big city yet - a-although we almost have! - but we're still gonna shoot right back to Sunny Clearing after spending some time getting to know my pops. And then you'll have us back!"

"I do hope so, Paint. It pierces me greatly that my husband and I are missing out on so much of our son becoming a man... but if he's having fun and seeing the world, with you by his side to protect him, I can't complain too much."

She couldn't help smiling, even knowing that it would not be seen by the other end. "Thanks," she beamed.

Arrowhead's mother seemed distracted now, though, and she hastily wrapped their interaction up. "Now, Paint, you know me - Mrs. Socialite - but I'm going to be truncating our little tea party. The parents of your friends Jewel and Maxwell, whom my husband has managed to piece together the sense to call over, are here. Why don't you bring those two here to talk? I can't hog the line forever."

"You got it! Oh, Maaa-aax! Jewel-lll!" They looked over curiously at hearing their names. "Come hither! Reconnect with your flesh and blood!"

These two exchanges, which Paint paid moderate attention to while continuing to pore over artifacts, seemed a bit longer than Arrowhead's mother had held. Nevertheless, she noticed a couple of important details. First, Carol the Hyena was apparently becoming better friends with Amin even outside her work, of which there wasn't much these days: she, her husband, and Amin were doing some kind of puppet shows to entertain the small inhabitants of the village, with characters made out of hollowed-out squashes and other things from his garden. Though few details reached Paint, she imagined the feisty panda children watching and having a great time.

Second, Maxwell's mother and father had improved a lot in their health and stability since kicking their old habits. When he was carefully describing his devastating wing injury to them, Paint noticed him taking rhetorical measures to reassure them of his safety. They were invested. They cared.

Eventually, the conversation did finish up, and Maxwell hung up, a more satisfied and confident boy than he had entered. A request from Jewel for his mother to retrieve Morris had come up blank; he was out gathering nuts and things from the concentric woods. That was all right, albeit disappointing; they would contact him eventually, although a cellphone of their own would be a convenient trinket.

Maxwell was the one to convert the thought they all held to sound waves, quick and easy. "Alright, lugs, time to skedaddle! Those cowards aren't gonna cart themselves off to the slammer, and neither will Alice to her hopefully-more-cozy house!"

As Paint and her buddies ought to have learned by then, they were lightning rods for disruptions. In tune, Caroline jogged in with dripping hair and a bathrobe on. "Hey, guys, don't leave yet!" she cried.

"I guess we can wait," Arrowhead responded. "What is it?"

After a slight pause for emphasis and/or real hesitation, Caroline spoke. "I just want to let you all know, I'm so glad I met you. I wish it could've been under different circumstances... but it happened. I'm not sure that I'll ever understand the fire in your hearts, but I wish you well on finding and meeting Tails. I'm sure he'll be thrilled... as he should be. You're some of the best peop- um, animals - and plant-animals - that I've ever been fortunate enough to meet. Take good care of one another."

Paint smiled like the morning sun. "Thanks, Caroline! We love you a lot, too."

"Oh, and something else." Caroline quickly located a blank sticky note on a wall nearby, plus a pen with a suitable filling of ink, and with the two she generated a short string of digits. "Here, it's our phone number." She handed it to Jewel, the closest of everyone to her. "Naturally, I don't... have a lot of friends, since we're moving so often - although I do still enjoy research life here! But that's why we don't rely on landlines for our personal calls. If you ever get your own phone, I'd really appreciate hearing how you're doing. I actually wouldn't mind meeting Tails and all them myself eventually, but that'll have to wait..."

"It was nice meeting you all," her father affirmed. "You clearly have great heads on your shoulders. Just be safe out there, okay? Mobius is a big, dangerous world, as exciting as it is even to long-time human researchers like ourselves."

Twenty minutes later, the truck was well on its way again, repositioned on the two-lane road that had carried them all the way into Mushroom Hill. Alice had wanted to drive, and this had been agreeable to everyone present. It was peaceful, and with the caffeine she had consumed earlier having long worn off, Paint was considering napping - Alice would certainly be capable enough, especially piloting the vehicle to her own home as she was.

Something was making it difficult to sleep, though, but in her dazed state she couldn't quite put her tongue on it. It was almost like the truck's engine was periodically rattling. Or could it be something in the back - Nisaya and Nettle pulling a stunt similar to her own when they were first transported to the camp? Doubtful, she reasoned: they would have put forth some kind of ultimatum first, Star could easily stop any such mutiny, and if it were to come to it, they had the gun up there anyhow. Maybe it was just the bumpy road.

Perhaps she could just drift off anyway. She hadn't had a nice, peaceful dream in a while.

_Booooooom_. Nope, not now - it was definitely getting more prominent, whatever it was. The vibrations, on their erratic yet assiduous rhythm, ruffled through her fur like gusts of wind on a frigid, howling night.

This was getting scary now. "A-Alice, you feel that?" she whimpered.

Luckily she wasn't going crazy - or maybe very, very unluckily. "Yeah, I do... Hey, guys, I think we might be experiencing an earthquake. I'm going to pull the truck over; maybe we can wait it out. Keep your heads away from any hard surfaces," she commanded. As the great thumps shook their mothership, the captain directed it to a hopefully safe zone to wait out the celestial radiation wave storm - if she could.

"Hey, what's going on?!" Nisaya shouted from the trailer.

"We don't know!" Paint responded in a panic. "Just cover your heads! This could get shaky! But we don't know what it is!"

Soon enough, they did.

Bigger, faster, and meaner than anything she'd seen in her life, a chrome metal mech tramped onto the scene, directly in front of them. This creature, whatever its teleology, whoever its commander, could have stood a hundred meters tall, and it was no friendly giant. It was forging its very own path of destruction in the land, tearing and toppling mushroom and tree stalks and creating dents in the pavement with its massive feet, just like what they had seen earlier. Exactly like it.

It slowed down and halted. It saw them. It began to lower its knees for a closer look - or perhaps more.

Jewel yelped pitifully at the gargantuan sight and fainted on the spot; his head thumped softly onto the floor. Maxwell clutched him tightly and moaned helplessly himself, and Paint managed to clasp Arrowhead's and Cayne's quaking bodies to her own as though they were about to be wrenched apart by a meat grinder. "_ALICE!_" she screeched above the top of her lungs. "_GET OUT OF HERE!_"

"_I'M TRYING!_" The gear shift was moved from "park" back to "drive" and the engine revved up again, but it was too late, they were too late. The mech picked the truck's already heavy body up with both hands and raised it, at an grueling pace, to its head-level as though readying itself to enjoy a submarine sandwich.

This was it. They could very well be done for; they were now very obviously and completely at this mecha's mercy, and it was not going to play nice.

Arrowhead broke down in a fit of tears and pitifully whispered her name at decibel dice rolls, over and over - he had only half an hour earlier promised his mother he would stay safe, and here he was now. His tear ducts ran straight into the fur of Paint's shoulder like a sprinkler on a bleached-dry afternoon, and for once in her life, her immense anger at the situation lent her no ability to protect him in any way, even through sacrificing herself for him. She too had spit out a promise she could not keep up, and now the consequences were raining down with no umbrella in sight.

And Cayne and Alice had almost been delivered home, too - this, right after the decrees to their own mink and hedgehog hamlets that their daughters would be returning safe, healthy, and in good mind. The situation tore with its thick, heartless metal fingers through the tame canvas of being a "nightmare" - this somehow managed to be far worse than Paint's nightmares of giant robots had ever deigned, and yet here it was in front of them.

With that, a squeaky, mechanical sliding noise rang out. She would not be a wimp today; she would look her attacker in the eyes and let him or her know in no uncertain terms exactly what it was doing. With Arrowhead and Cayne gently dropping to the wayside below her and trembling as they held each other, she stood up on the seat to gaze across through the windshield, leaning down for a few seconds to open the window a few inches for some speaking room, should it be necessary.

The squeaky noise had been attached to the opening of a near-opaque tinted window on the mech's face, and now its occupants were in full, strange view.

The main one, sat down at a control panel, was a human man perhaps in his late middle age. His head was bald or shaven, and he sported a debonair red-orange mustache and a pair of sunglasses no clearer than his own windshield. He wore a scarlet jacket across his medium frame, and he was flanked by no fewer than four robot assistants: a slender, tall, and gold one; a pudgy, short, and silver one; and two much shorter ones without legs - with a red spherical head and a yellow squarish one. Only the man spoke, however, and he stared Paint straight between the eyes.


	68. Chapter 68

**Author's note: Awwww, yeah. I really got a kick out of writing this one, and I have a feeling you might with reading it, too. Dr. Eggman and his robots are fun characters.**

"Why, hello there! If it isn't my favorite oaken-and-orange, ostentatious snack for the omnivores! I must say, I never expected to see the likes of you so far away from home in a land as obscure as this! I bet Tails is worried absolutely sick about you!" The strange man's voice was rough and raspy, yet somehow containing a bit of a singsong character. He snarled smugly and waited for her next move.

Shaking harder than ever, Arrowhead poked her in the shoulder. "P-Paint," he whispered with more terror behind his voice than she cared to ever remember hearing, "I- I think th-that's..."

She gave him a quick, pleading glance to stay quiet; she felt somehow that this was her job and hers alone. Noticing that her head was a little too big for the opening, she lowered the window a couple more inches and stuck it out to yell out to him. "Who are you and what do you want?!" she cried.

His sunglasses kept her from gleaning too much of his expression, but at any rate, he seemed a little startled to hear this, as were all four of the robots that shared his cockpit.

"Doctor," the tall golden one suggested, "I'm not sure that's-"

"Quiet, Decoe!" he growled down to him. "I'll hammer everything into all of your dumb-as-a-doornail bolt-brains later." He turned quickly back to face the truck and spoke to Paint again. "Pardon the discourteous introduction, both mine... and theirs. I am Dr. Eggman! Nice to see you, sweetheart!"

_Eggman! It's him! This is really him!_ He looked different from how she had imagined - it was a shame; a ponytail might have made him quite dashing - but all the same, she felt her fists tightening and her tails beginning to flick back and forth threateningly as she instantly remembered Star waiting in the trailer and just how kind of a father the Doctor had been to the poor robot. She began hyperventilating, but ordered herself to stay calm all the same - there was something left to learn.

"How do you know Tails is my dad, and that we're far from home?!"

He grinned again. "Well, isn't it obvious? You don't see a tween-aged girl with a foot in each of the two great taxonomic kingdoms and two tails to match every day, now do you? You're the one and only! I know everything about you!"

Strange indeed, but a more pressing and obvious question had wormed its way into her brain. "W-why'd you pick us up?" she yelled, tentatively calming down. "I mean, there's no way you've done this to every vehicle that's driven by! Why us?"

A reasonable question, and one he was prepared to give a reasonable answer to. "Well, my little vixen kit, this Gargantu-Bot is equipped with a positively generous selection of electronic devices - computer; television; microwave; musical keyboard; video games for the bots' regrettable 'slack-off' time - but of course, one of its most valuable trappings is this radar tracker!"

He gave a small adjustment to one of the dials and the Gargantu-Bot's giant hand shifted a few feet up so that the angle would be sufficient for her to see inside - he graciously pointed out an inconspicuous, lime-green dashboard that looked very much like a radar tracker would. Arrowhead shook queasily, like he was raring to spill his half-digested candy bars and potato chips all over her lap, but she patted him soothingly.

"And this tracker," he elaborated, "has found its quarry!"

And then it hit her. Star's_ radio transceiver. We never took it itself out, only the explosives_. She gulped and began to lose her fragile cool, palms sweating like ice cubes. With a disorganized, ratcheting deluge of half-formed ideas, she scrambled to come up with something to distract him, convince him that the robot was anywhere but right behind their seats, almost in Eggman's cold, deathly grasp.

Luckily, six heads are better than one, and Arrowhead was quick to offer a contest of his own. He delicately stepped over her and poked his own head through the window to ask his own question. "Dr. Eggman, um, are you talking about the radio transceiver from one of your robots? A-an E-1030 model or something?"

Taken rather aback, he replied, "Why, yes, er, Friend of Tails' and Cosmo's Daughter! That's exactly it!"

_What's he doing?! Does he want to get Star killed?! I thought he loved it! Even his mom, who was more than sore about it first, came to like it! Why this; why now?! _She whispered, "Arrow!", up at him, tormented - he merely winked at her. Cayne looked rather confused at the whole situation, while Alice kept a stoic, stormy countenance all the way. Maxwell's face wasn't visible, being held against Jewel's warm and breathing but still wholly unconscious body.

"Well" - Arrowhead shifted back and forth on his two webbed feet - "that's because we destroyed one... a-and we kept the transceiver around as a souvenir!"

"Destroyed one?!" he exclaimed. "Quite impressive there, lad." He genuinely did not look upset, a rare happy consequence of his own indifference to his waves of robot children.

That was a clever idea! "Nice!" she whispered up to him from her seated position; she rubbed her head affectionately against his leg, her right ear and whiskers mashing against it. He smiled down at her.

"Now, my boy, could you be so kind as to _show me_ this artifact?"

Arrowhead and Paint froze cold.

They were not the only ones cognizant of their shocked reactions to Dr. Eggman's simple request. "Ooh, you got him good, Doctor!" cheered the stout, silver robot.

"Y'know, Orbot," mused the stubby yellow one to his red-colored friend, "I reckoned that one was up to somethin' from the beginnin'! Ah, lizards - can't trust 'em worth half a ring!"

Orbot cautiously replied, "Cubot, I don't think-"

Dr. Eggman would not have this disturbance in the tense atmosphere he'd worked up. "Will you two imbeciles make like the top two-thirds of a traffic light and _stop _your mouths from vocalizing your _slow_ brains?!" He sighed, annoyed, and looked Arrowhead back in the eyes. "So, kid, got the part or not?"

"Well... I..."

Paint stood up once more and recouped her place at the _ad hoc_ podium. "We're sorry! I-it was a mistake! The robot's alive... and it... it's in the trailer of our truck!" She began to weep with the last few words of the admission, and she and the other occupants exchanged terrible, forlorn looks. What had she done? Would they have to relinquish their friend to save themselves? Was this even the right thing to do? She'd promised to give her own life to save the innocent Star's at their trial, and she'd meant every word of it, but that had only been her own livelihood on the line. But there could've been another way to keep innocent little Star with them... right? She was beyond distraught already as she waited for a response from the Doctor.

"Well, then," suggested Eggman with difficulty at hiding his impatience, "are you going to bring it to me or not?"

Paint was in a full sob now as she feebly opened the passenger door and made her way to the back. It was then that their sheer, lethal height was revealed to her; she could see for miles in each direction, perhaps beyond Mushroom Hill if she squinted, and she did not dare look down. Only perhaps a ten-foot grace window separated her from falling to her doom - not having inherited her father's flight abilities was finally evincing its ugly consequences - so she stuck close to the truck's flank and walked carefully. Could Eggman pull a trick and spill them all to their deaths anyway?

In this moment, she was reminded of a time when she was five or six years old and convinced Arrowhead, who was then not yet a good friend of hers, to come and play with her atop a house's roof. She had not been scared at the time, but this must have been what Arrowhead's mother had felt on his behalf as she ordered her son down and promptly castigated the crying young Metarex descendant who had, just as expected, placed her son in danger once more.

Well, she would do everything in her power not to meet an end like that. She buckled down, picked up her pace a bit, and pushed the trailer's door open. Reeling from the piercing of their darkness, Nisaya and Nettle looked bewildered in the blinding light - how much of the exchange had they heard through their thick metal prison walls? Upon recognizing Paint, Nisaya hissed at her, not bothering to form a coherent word.

"I... I'm s-so sorry, guys. I... didn't mean it like this." She managed to calm her blubbering enough to give Star one more devastated look. She climbed up and hugged it with all the loving tightness her muscles could squeeze into it, enough tears to drown an angel spilling over the cold hull guarding its warm heart. It did not deserve this. "S-Star? ...You have to come with me now."

With as little context as the robot had, it understood without a second thought. Silently, and like a brave warrior being singled out amongst its compatriots in a prisoner-of-war camp, it rose from its almost meditative seated position and followed her obediently. So this was the price of friendship, understanding, and love.

She helped it down and guided it to walk ahead of her to the front of the truck, where Eggman and his apparently more worthwhile robot creations were waiting.

"Ah, here we go," he growled with pleasure. "Yes, that's an E-1030 all right. One of my greatest designs, I do believe, right up with the similar and just as valorous E-123 line! Come back to me, buddy! I don't know how in my own glorious name these colorful chordate kids managed to trick you into being captured in a vehicle as drab and boring as that one, but you always have a home with me! Hahaha, ohohohoho!"

Paint was stricken with a rush of passion. Moving rather roughly against Star's body, but with far from rough intentions toward it, she positioned herself squarely in front of it. Flicking once again with pure canine rage, her tails brushed lightly against Star's leg.

"_NO!_" she screamed. "YOU'RE NOT TAKING STAR! YOU'LL HAVE TO GET THROUGH _ME _FIRST!"

He stared blankly at her. "'Star'?" And then he got it. "Ohhhh, you've given it a name! How cute. It's too bad it's on _my_ side, though, so I'll be a gracious playdate-setter-upper now and allow you to say your goodbyes before it rejoins the army of Dr. Eggman! Ohohoho, isn't parting such sweet sorrow?"

She wasn't budging. "Star's on _our_ side!" she informed him, clearly not in any kind of mood for suggestions. "And it's staying that way! Dr. Eggman, you're a terrible father to your robots!"

"Paint!" Alice shouted from behind, still perched in the driver's seat. "Bravery can wait! Give Dr. Eggman what he wants!"

He pointed a dumb-playing finger at his own face. "Me?" Perhaps his higher-ranking robots could provide some rhetorical backing. "Oh, do you think so?" he asked them. "How about you, Bocoe? Am _I_ 'terrible'? Do _I _deserve to have my own bots abandon me? Sounds awfully harsh to me, don't you think?"

The stout, silver robot twiddled his fingers. "Well, Dr. Eggman, _we_ like you just fine, but if leaving you for any reason counts, Bokkun i-"

"Never mind him!" The retort had annoyed the Doctor, so he waved his henchmen off and returned to speaking with Paint. "Oh, dearest daughter of fauna and flora, whatever brings you to _that_ conclusion?"

_He doesn't recognize Star? _she realized. "Th-the explosive canisters!" she yelled, hoping to trigger his memory. "You had one stuck up inside poor Star's head, and it told me that's what you do to all of your robots of its kind, just threatening them away from defecting! Do you have any idea how terrified you made it?! I-it wasn't even Star's fault; its teammates on some kind of mission abandoned it!"

Orbot looked concerned at her tale. "Is that true, Doctor?"

Ignoring him, the man's forehead wrinkled crassly. "Oh, so this is _that_ one. The deserter, the melancholic. I must say, girlie, you have more than well enough inherited your mommy's and daddy's knacks for ruining otherwise dramatic and exciting moments."

Decoe had a question for his master: "Well, Doctor? Are you going to retrieve Star or not? If you want, Bocoe and I can fuse together to threaten this girl!"

Looking and sounding rather disgusted with the situation, Eggman pinched his temple with two fingers and replied, "No, don't bother. _This_ one wouldn't be doing us any good anyway. One of my rare weaknesses is my ineptitude with praise, but even you knapsacks of nuts and bolts are competent and efficacious compared to this one. I swear, one little inopportune visit from Ms. Flame-Kitty and it's waterworks all the way home for sad little 'Star'."

Finally, he rotated his head once more to face Paint. "Well, 'Paint', it looks like it's your lucky day! I do enjoy acting as both judge and jury, but I suppose I don't have a reason to play around with you and your buddies any longer beyond... urgh... wasting my time. I'll simply leave you to enjoy your nice, relaxing drive today - I have more pressing quests to attend to, anyway."

Star looked down at Paint and cooed optimistically at her.

"Yeah, I said it," Eggman groaned. "Now get that thing loaded up in the truck and your own rear end back inside before I change my mind!" His matters done, he spoke to his robots again. "Alright, boys. Here's the rub. She's..." - Paint did not care to listen further; she gave Star a winning high-five and scurried back - luckily still remembering to be careful, owing to the nauseating altitude - with it, got it situated back next to a still-confused Nisaya and Nettle, and returned to her place inside the cab. The split second he could get her off his hands, Dr. Eggman began to lower the Gargantu-Bot's massive hand-platform safely to the ground.

"Paint, you did it!" Alice sang joyfully to her. "I'm so sorry for doubting you up there - I really need to get better at remembering that standing up for our loved ones can be a better solution than 'playing it safe' and accepting losing them. Oh, I'm so glad you and Star are okay!" Cayne took the opportunity to give her an affectionate squeeze, like one would a treasured stuffed animal, and Paint returned the favor. Jewel had apparently regained consciousness and nodded weakly but approvingly, as did his companion Maxwell, and Arrowhead. She had done good, and it felt good.

Eggman finally did set them down, and as soon as Alice carefully navigated the truck off the mech's hand, Eggman impatiently un-bent its knees while reeling its arm back up, then tramped off with it again to continue his day's activities.

"Okay, guys," Alice told the group, "while our luck's good, let's get me and Cayne home. We both live in the surburbs of Yakhtanmantannji, where you can refuel on gas - and trash those wolves - so let's go!" The Gargantu-Bot had reduced itself in the animals' fields of vision, sound, and tremor detection to a negligible presence, so she gave an additional suggestion: "Anyone up for some music?"


	69. Chapter 69

**Author's note: Jeez, R.I.P. Leonard Nimoy. Having only seen the two recent live-action movies, I was never myself much of a ****_Star Trek_**** fan, though my father is and I was considering getting into it for an excuse to learn Klingon, but both as himself and as Spock, he's clearly touched a large number of people around the world for many years, which may include some of my readers. And it's likely that the older ****_Star Trek_**** influenced the third season of ****_Sonic X_****, so I must say I have him to thank as well. Prosperity be with him forever, wherever he is. In his memory, I'll continue exploring as I write, helping our friends along their own vital journey. As usual, enjoy.**

The truck's cabin shook with pulsating, nauseating regularity, and the animals' heads vibrated disagreeably to match. The very air was awash with loud, crunching, atonal noises; violent clashes of steel; and sickening screams. Most of the travelers looked simply terrified as they were plunged, no consent required, into this foreign, horrifying existence.

Cayne, however, loved it. Paint, too. And it was only possible now that Dr. Eggman was long out of sight.

"Hey, c'mon!" Arrowhead objected, reaching out a timid finger to toggle the radio dial back to something more friendly. "I liked what we had before! And so did you - why change to this? I can't even understand the lyrics..."

"Because it's _awesome_!" Cayne cried over the cacophony, lunging her head up and down to the blasting beat with her eyes squeezed shut. "It's called 'metal'! My dad listens to it! He even used to be in a band before he had me and my brothers!"

He sighed and looked to his closest friend for help. "Paint, do you actually like this?" Maxwell and Jewel did not speak, focused on clenching their teeth and plugging their ears.

"Its dark energy courses through the rivers of my blood, Arrow!" she exclaimed, blind to the others' reactions. "I was born to ride its roller-coaster of anger with a smile!" Her zealotry for this new genre to her was no match for his obvious discomfort, though, and although she wanted him to like it, too, she felt immediately guilty.

Cayne took the sympathetic step first, however. "We can change back if you want!" she yelped apologetically. Abruptly, she reverted the dial to its prior position, which returned to the air a more quiet and peaceful song sung by a woman's soothing voice atop a single acoustic guitar. The latter part of her motion was frenetic, as she had a pernicious itch nestled in the matted fur on the back of her neck that needed attention.

"Yeah, good riddance," Alice muttered, still cringing at the uproar's affective echo. Probably both to distract herself from the memory and as a genuine source of information, she asked the group, "Hey, can someone look at the map and tell me how far we are from Green Island? That's where I'll be getting off, and Cayne, too. I don't recognize the scenery here yet." Indeed, though the mushrooms' part of the roadside forest expanse had thinned out to nothing and the ground had gotten leveler once more, no landmarks familiar to everyone were showing up yet.

"Ooh, let me see!" Cayne cried, snatching it roughly and unraveling it from its coiled state. Her eyes flitted across the page in confusion. "Uh... well, Green Island's not listed."

"Not every rinky-dink little town's gonna make it onto a map of the whole world, Cayne," Maxwell snapped. "How many people live there, anyway?"

"...Eleven thousand, I think?" she murmured, disturbed by his brash reply.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. How about Yakhtanmantannji?"

Jewel looked dismayed at the fighting, so he recast Maxwell's "suggestion" into a nicer compromise. "Yeah, just look for that. It's one of the biggest cities on the continent - a-although it's behind the one Morris is from, I think - and there can't be any serious distance in between, right?"

That was fine with her, so she smiled and located it. "Oh! Well, if this little red-colored shape here is Mushroom Hill and we just left it, and this dot that says 'Yakhtanmantannji'... is Yakhtanmantannji... then we're... less than a millimeter away! ...Metaphorically. We're pretty close, looks like!"

"Aaaaaaand that's no help, of course," Maxwell shot back. "Yo, Paint, didn't you have more specific ones tucked away in that backpack of yours?"

"Yes," Arrowhead groaned tiredly in Paint's and Cayne's defense, "but that's still in the trailer. Should we get it out, anyone?"

"Nah, we can do it later," Paint contended. "The only one that's small-scale enough to show a town that's only, like, eleven thousand people and is a suburb of a big city is the one of just Kattekara, anyway."

"And that's all you brought?" Alice asked exasperatedly.

Arrowhead wasn't having it. "What's wrong with that?" he challenged. "Should she have just magically known that someone from 'Green Island' or whatever was gonna be kidnapped in the same illegal diamond mine camp we would be, way back when we left our home?"

Jewel was showing weariness of the conflict. "Uh... come on, guys..." He looked up at Maxwell, but the glance was not returned, and Maxwell was not satisfied.

"Yeah, if you can believe it," he spoke, "it actually isn't her fault that you come from such a piddly little grass stain, Alice."

Paint wanted to speak up and attempt to calm him, but someone beat her to it. "What was that?" snarled the recipient of his insult. Though not in any danger of compromising their safety through inattention, the pleasant-colored hedgehog stared icily into his eyes.

"Stop focusing on that, Alice. It's not logical," Arrowhead asserted. "We just want to know-"

"_STOOOOOOOPP IIIIIIITTT!_"

All eyes, angered and placid alike, swam around the room until they curiously found Cayne, the source of the outburst.

Alice wasn't willing to drop it entirely, so she tried for a second to cast herself as a figure of reason. "Now, Cayne, if you were listening, they w-"

"Who cares?!" Cayne yelled with her exigent voice - which had a clear and ringing presence; she would do well as a vocalist in her favorite genre. "Why are we even doing this, Alice?! We should be happy! We're almost home!"

Maxwell began to growl the first seething consonants of a rather disproportionately incendiary response to the girl, but Jewel tapped him on the shoulder. He spun angrily toward the hyena, but was soothed a little by seeing the doleful eyes of someone who respected him so. A small breath out was Jewel's cue to speak his mind.

Instead of uttering a sound, though, he simply pointed in the windshield's direction. Maxwell accepted the suggestion and noticed what Jewel had been pointing out, smiling when he saw. The truck's position now atop a rare hill revealed a large town - perhaps not major enough to make the cut for a world map, but much grander than anything two-thirds of the cabin's occupants had ever seen in person. The excited gasps of the two full-blooded animal females clued Paint in to the fact that this was indeed Green Island - an odd name, as it could be considered more aptly a peninsula of the non-green.

After an expanse of extended urban sprawl intermixed with what looked like a large, forested park up ahead, the hallmarks of a much bigger city stood proudly against the afternoon sky - even more densely packed urbanity, with skyscrapers a little farther out. It was strange; it was frightening; it was foreign; it was beautiful. Yakhtanmantannji was finally here.

Arrowhead's natural incomprehension of the arts allowed to tear himself away from the view first. "Sorry about that, everyone," he admitted. "I don't know what was coming over me. I was just... ugh, I feel awful." He scratched his head - he had no fur to be occupied by any number of tiny organisms as another recent itcher did; it was done more as one rubs one's temples in fatigue, which he made sure to include in his scratches.

"That's okay!" Paint yipped, leaning over and kissing his forehead unashamedly. "Maybe we're all just carsick," she suggested. She was then struck with the unpleasant memory that those present in the conversation were not the only ones who would be. "All of us."

"...Yeah, sorry," Alice agreed. "I shouldn't do that. That wasn't very mature of me."

"But you'll have to no longer," Paint replied with mixed feelings at the nearby large city - the first real, major milestone of their seemingly eternal journey - and the impending departure of two good friends. "In fact, ehehe, you should probably be slowing down now if you, uh, y'know..."

"Oh, shoot, you're right!" Alice eased her foot, with an urgency that belied that verb, onto the brake pedal, for the outskirts of her hometown were right before them and she was moving at what could be estimated at three times a reasonable speed limit for a town like it.

As they pulled in, all occupants but Alice and Cayne were struck by one feature of the town, and it was what very nearly defined the term. Paint, for one, had never seen this many buildings in one place before, nor with this level of organization. The transition was rather striking from a murky forested area to a rigid grid system with every building positioned in its exact, proper location. A native of a town like Sunny Clearing could not have reasonably complained that the buildings were too identical here, but there was a certain feeling of confinement evoked by the generally consistent lawn widths and perfectly safe sidewalks.

Still, it was beautiful all the same in its own way. Alice was plenty distracted with her task of navigating safely a street that was littered with the burdensome obstacle of other cars, both parked and moving, and even the odd traffic light at intersections of a certain standing, but the others were able to enjoy the blanket of simple beauty that autumn had laid upon the deliberately constructed landscape. Cayne gaped with warm, radiant joy at the sight of buildings familiar to her - perhaps including the houses of some of her friends - but the Sunny Clearing natives still had plenty to feast their corneas on: aggravated Mobian parents raking lawns as their young children played around in the soft piles of leaves; a flock of Earth birds cheeping contentedly atop a roof; a mailman attending to one of his assigned blocks; an older-teenaged bobcat in a ratty hoodie biking with headphones on in the opposite direction.

One intersection was marked with a yellow light that turned red right at the most inopportune time, so Alice stopped the truck and waited patiently for it to change, allowing a few cars on the bisecting boulevard to proceed. Jewel's eyes were drawn to a teenage girl waiting patiently at the crosswalk before she too could cross - more specifically, to her accompaniment. It was a strange, pudgy creature the color of a robin's egg, and it hovered loyally beside her. It could almost be a birthday balloon, if not for the movement of its large, friendly eyes.

"Um... hey, does anyone know what that is?" he asked.

Paint squinted at it, and its form did register somewhere in her memory. "Oh!" she cried out. "Isn't that a Chao? Copacetic!" She had never seen one of these things in real life, either, having only learned about them from colorful and elaborate photographs in travel guides of locations elsewhere on Mobius. She had had little comprehension of global distances like these at the time, but illustrations of foci like lush rainforests, mountain peaks, and crowded beaches with Mobians, humans, and Chao alike enjoying the sun and surf had been nothing short of magic to her young eyes, and seeing one of these strange creatures for the first time stood as yet another marker of how far they'd come.

Alice's eyes took a quick, perfunctory look at the creature, and then a confused one at Paint. "You... don't have Chao where you're from?" It apparently was, in the accustomed hedgehog's eyes, like hearing of a land without trees or water.

"Just reminding you two city-slickers," Maxwell jeered good-naturedly, "we're from even deeper in the boonies than you, somehow. We lack lots of modern luxuries: ya know, Chao, phone lines, intelligent foxes..." He playfully shoved Paint, and she giggled back at him.

"Hey, Alice," Cayne recalled out loud as the light turned green and they groaned into motion again, "didn't you tell me once you live around this part of town?"

"Yes, I do," she confirmed. Although reuniting with her family had its own perks all the same, now would be a sad time in its own way. It wasn't long before their current street had taken them far enough, so she made a wide, reluctant-feeling turn to the right and guided them onto a less traveled side street. Instead of the fronts of houses, this street was bordered more by their sides, a few parking garages, and more generous helpings of ornamental trees. She turned to the left after a few more appropriately short blocks and set them down once more beside a rather plain-looking tawny-colored house, only one story tall with an attic. There was plenty of room between the nearest cars, even for a full-sized truck like theirs, but Alice's movements were careful and conscientious still. When she was parked, she intently wrote her name and a string of numbers below Caroline's on the old sticky note.

No one was waiting outside; instead, Alice got out herself, silently beckoning Cayne and Paint, her two closest friends of the group, along - the others certainly could have come, but they were a bit tired for that. She strode up and rang the doorbell, and another of her kind, looking quite a lot like her with an extra head of height and wearing an apron with a couple of unseemly stains, walked up to say hello.

"Alice! You're home fast," her mother said. "You know, the police were just over here twenty or thirty minutes ago, reporting back... as usual... on their latest worthless leads." The house, from beyond the woman's rather slender but sturdy frame, presented itself quite neatly, with its walls a boring, proper shade of puce and most of its decorations leaning old-fashioned, a high-definition television and some kind of video game console among the few exceptions.

"'S too bad," the girl muttered under her breath to Paint, "we almost could've just parried the wolves off right then. ...A-anyway, Mom," she spoke up, "great to see you!"

"Too bad you had to be... 'out', huh?" her mother mused out loud. "Your cousin Amy visited a little longer ago, just a couple weeks, before she had to fly back to be with her friends. I'm sure she would've loved to see you. ...You haven't forgotten her, have you? Amy _Rose_?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mom! I'd never forget a thing like that!" she chuckled nervously. _That name_, Paint considered, _I've heard it before. Some actress, maybe, or a singer? Sweet to know Alice's got performer blood!_

"Oh," and the girl continued, "this is Cayne! We spent lots of time together working, earlier on during our confinement, and I'm really gonna miss her. She actually lives right here in Green Island, just north of here, in the more relaxed part of our downtown."

"Hey!" Cayne shouted.

"Hello, Cayne!" the woman waved. "Aaaaaand... so," she gestured in Paint's direction, "is this your fair maiden from your imprisonment time?"

Where some people might have blushed and equivocated around, Alice proudly wrapped an arm around Paint's shoulder, settling her arm comfortably among her leafy tufts, and confirmed, "Yeah! Well, I mean, I like to think we've grown together."

"Your Alice is one swell gal!" Paint confirmed with a laugh. "B-but yeah, we've been through a lot, learned quite a bit about each other."

The woman chuckled and raised her eyes to the sky. "Of course, of course," she laughed. "Well... Alice, I'm sure they've got to be on their way, too, and so I can't occupy them any longer. Here, here, come in, sweetie!" she insisted. "I taped one of the reports on Amy's latest exploits."

Though a movie or some kind of pop-culture news thereof sounded great about now, other concerns were more pressing. "Yeah, sorry we can't stay longer," Cayne pouted. "Laaaaaaater, Alice!" They hopped away, the door quickly closing as the girl waved goodbye to her departing cohorts, and the mink remembered an important want to be filled. "Oh! Paint! Paint! D'you think we could... find another metal station for a little while? Just on the drive to my place! I- I just want you all to give it a second chance!"

"Don't ask me!" she chuckled, herself wishing for more of the vivacious, violent stuff. "I was enthusiastic about it!" Deep down, she longed to get Arrowhead into something like that, far beyond any of her enjoyment of it herself, although she wanted at the same time to be as respectful as possible of the boys' likes and dislikes. Oh, well - such a time was not now, while comfort was already at a low and tension at a high.

When they had traversed the neat, square, well-raked lawn and reached the truck - which was rather garish in accordance with the other quiet surroundings and flaring, billowing early-autumn foliage, Cayne shouted up to the window, "Hey, which of you guys wants to drive?" Someone had cranked it open - entirely appropriate, desiring some fresh air on this nice, brisk afternoon after such a long drive.

"Don't care," Maxwell's voice called, its owner uninterested in spending the effort to raise himself to the window. "Jewel?" he could be heard groaning. "How 'bout it, pal?"

"Sure, I'll do it!" Jewel said. "Ah... are you two ready?"

"Yeah!" Paint and Cayne approved in unison, the most colorful of the bunch hoisting the most chromatically dull and stormy and being pulled up herself. Jewel flattened himself against the drivers' seat so they could get past him, and they sat themselves down. Arrowhead was pressed against the window beside Maxwell, so Cayne helpfully snuggled in on the floor and Paint took the only available space, between Maxwell and Jewel. How far they'd come indeed that her fur could brush against only the two who had once, in a time and place distant enough as to nearly lose all meaning, been physically violent to her. That was all long past, though, so she extended her arm to reach his right shoulder and rightward upper-back muscles and rubbed them soothingly. He winced at first, almost ready to growl, but quickly began to enjoy it, like one would a massage. They would get him to a clinic soon enough to repair the damage; she was dead-set on it.

Jewel cranked the ignition once more. They had been on the road steadily enough for this consequence to seem a forgettable impossibility, but the tank was running quite low - a refueling stop would simply have to be added to their mental checklist. Regardless, he contently enjoyed the drive to get Cayne, their final remaining rider not part of the original quintet, safely to her home.

"So, people, I..." Cayne squirmed like she was desperately holding it, which might very well have been true considering their long time on the road and her consumption of several soda cans, "I was kinda thinking..."

"Oh!" Like a forgetful but faithful disc jockey, Paint remembered and indulged the request. "Yo, guys, would it be terribly sacrilegious if we played some of Cayne's jazz - er, ah, you know - until we got to her house? Pretty-please - erm, horrifically-ugly-and-disfigured-please?"

Maxwell took one look at her before deciding it simply wasn't worth the effort to protest. "Sure, go nuts. Hope your big, floppy rose-ears can take it, Pained."

Paying no mind to the truck's rattling as it entered a poorly paved stretch of road preceding Green Island's downtown, Cayne gleefully leapt up and fiddled with the radio's controls until she found a station she liked. Sure enough, the music was pounding, angry, and distorted beyond any dying hope of intelligibility - and she was loving it as usual. Her very favorite toad's head was turned away, but she craned her arm to poke him in the shoulder and smile optimistically to prod for approval. He gave her a weak, half-hearted grin and, of natural course, snuggled his head so that one of his internal amphibian ears was blocked by Maxwell's flank and another by the soft seat.

Well, that was all right, Paint figured; it was better than nothing - and he was seeing everything outside. And what it was to see - though not at Yakhtanmantannji-typical levels, the downtown of its suburb was plenty impressive to their eyes. Restaurants; cafes; a public library; some kind of herbal healing den; apartment buildings! Mobians everywhere enjoying the beautiful day, with even a human now and then, and another Chao seen! If not for the far greater sights shortly up ahead, it would be quite depressing for them to have to leave this town so quickly.

As it turned out, Cayne's address was in one of these tenements, just on the same major street they were currently on - perhaps the main one of the village. She suggested to Jewel a nearby parking lot for the giant, awkwardly sized vehicle that would allow parking for a short time. Obediently as ever, he pulled in, accelerating timidly into the lot upon drawing the honking ire of a taxi and a minivan. Fortunately, that was all to be quickly forgotten, as the townspeople, just like the adventurers, had more important things to be doing.

Jewel coaxed the giant metal beast into its stall, and Cayne slowly but surely turned the radio off and took a count of who would be accompanying her to her apartment; everyone was game but Maxwell.

"I'm just gonna stay here," he sighed tiredly, "in case those wolves decide to pull some kinda shindig of crying out for help that they're being kidnapped, and someone's gotta be around to explain. Y'know, people wouldn't be so happy about that. Plus... eh, I'm not feelin' so great right now."

"Good idea," Arrowhead replied. He and everyone else got out and stretched, while Maxwell closed his eyes for a second, exhaled, and stared up at the cabin's ceiling.


	70. Chapter 70

So, this was what a normal, urbanized town was like at street level. Cayne scurried along a few feet ahead of the group, eager to see her family, but in turning her head around wildly from invigoration at seeing her favorite familiar sights once more, she noticed that the others were walking more reticently a few steps behind her, and so she stepped back to be with them so they could enter her den together.

"You guys okay?" she asked, her attention flitting from animal to animal.

"I guess we didn't realize," Arrowhead admitted tiredly, "how, uh... crowded it would feel here. It's a bit overwhelming; Maxwell might've had the right idea..."

"Huh." Paint buckled down and exhaled. "I think we'll be fine!"

That was good. Cayne smiled and managed to get a few well-meaning words out. "Yeah! I think y-" She didn't get far, though; two beavers about her same age, apparently brothers, were throwing a frisbee back and forth and managed in their impenetrable concentration to hit her square in the jaw with its tough plastic edge.

"Yo, hey, what're you-" the unwitting assailant cried out, before he realized he knew the girl. "Oh! Cayne!"

"Heeeeeyyy!" she chirped, letting the disc clatter on the cracked sidewalk. She would return to her more recently gained acquaintances soon enough, but for now she indulged this distraction; she ran over to the boy and gave his head an affectionate, furious rub with her knuckles. The other flat-tailed mammal, also pleased to see his old friend, walked over to join her.

"Oh, man," the first one told her with a wipe of sweat from his furry brow that likely served both a symbolic and a cooling purpose, "you totally have to see your dad, ASAP. After you went AWOL, he was, like, sadder than a boulder at the bottom of a lagoon. I didn't know how he was, like, even functioning. B-but just a few hours ago, he ran over to our place and was totally elated that you'd been found!"

"'Course, _we_ knew from the beginning you wouldn't be able to leave _us_ behind," his brother chided with a chuckle.

"Nope, sure wasn't!" she laughed back. "Oh, and hey, these guys were all prisoners with me! Say hello to Arrowhead, Paint, and Jewel! Go on, make friends!" The adventurers each waved hello, and Cayne made a genuine attempt to warm the beavers up to them, although they showed little interest beyond faint nods in the patchwork crew's direction. That was all right, though, Paint figured; they had their own old friend back whom, deep down, they'd probably feared they'd lost forever. It was a feeling foreign to her, but surely a greatly powerful one; the jangling riff of a song from earlier on in their drive eased into her head once more.

"You game to hang out with us later?" the clumsier of the two beavers asked, retrieving his scratched-up disc from the dirty pavement. "I think that taco place we like is still open until, like, seven tonight."

"Sure!" she barked. "Just a sec - got some business to get on first." With that, she granted her adventuring friends their first real attention of the conversation. "C'mon, guys! I'm not the only mink on Mobius, y'know!" Arrowhead was standing uncomfortably between Jewel and Paint, so Cayne yanked both of their hands to accompany her and he was pulled along for the ride, his eyes bugging out with momentary shock.

"'Kay, then, later, Cayne!" one of the beavers shouted, readying his dominant hand for some more disc-tossing as he walked away with his brother.

"See ya!" she replied enthusiastically, then turned quickly to the other three to make sure they'd been kicked fully into momentum. They obediently walked with her, so the satisfied girl ran up to the nearest building and held its door open to usher them in. As soon as she did get them into the foyer, a noise of a familiar timbre became noticeable - the same sort of music Cayne had dove so eagerly into in the truck.

Once everyone had stumbled into the inviting, if dingy, little front room, she sped to a receptacle with a number pad, positioned alongside another door, and typed in a code of a few digits. There was a buzzing noise, and she opened the second door in turn to let them in. "Come on, come on, come on!" She took the stairs three at a time, managing only through some inscrutable feat of animalistic coordination not to slip and fall. Her apartment was on the fourth story, and they could hear her rapping on the creaky wooden door at the speed of a caffeinated hummingbird's doughty heart quite a bit before they had run up themselves.

Though likely in no way an artistic gesture of egotistical neck-puffing like the Schlossers' house/lab had been, Cayne's apartment building had a different charm. Human-style architecture was - with its many floors stacked atop one another like tantalizing cookies - hugely efficient with real estate, and had a great way of feeling both logical and cozy. Life seemed to exude from the very fibers of the frequently-bare wood, and a decorator - perhaps the complex's landlord - had affixed several pieces of artwork, both abstract and descriptive, to the walls. Jewel puzzled over one of them for a few seconds too long, but was reminded to come up by Arrowhead's moist, soft foot stepping on a particularly creaky stair. Luckily, he made it up with his buddies just in time to see the grand reunion.

Her door twisted open, and two little minks, charcoal-colored and scraggly just like her, pounced. "CAAAAAAAAAYYYYNNE!" they screamed, their infectious joy pealing loudly over the music. Arrowhead and Jewel timidly covered their ears, and just in time, her father, who was unexpectedly sitting calmly and reading a newspaper under the blare, turned the volume knob on their giant speaker all the way off in a split second. He got up to say hello, acting as the token socializing member of the family while his children wrestled around on the carpeted floor.

"Oh, hey, it's you kids!" he cheered with a voice both unexpectedly soft and playful. "I was _wondering_ when you'd pick up the pace and get my daughter home!" Immediately picking up on Arrowhead's and Jewel's uncomfortable glances at each other, he stepped in. "Aha, I'm just kidding! Though I do hope _she_ was able to sit still well enough. I think she liked you guys a lot... actually, hold on. Cayne?" he called out to her.

In a split second, she jumped up and accepted his plea for geniality. "Sorry!" she said to him absentmindedly while she delivered abnormally rigid and formal-style handshakes to her three comrades. Her affection for them was anything but unnatural, though, and so she pulled them all in for a big hug.

Her father smiled and quietly pointed out the new arrivals to his two sons, erstwhile still wrestling each other despite their sister's departure. "Hey," one of them yelled while pointing at Jewel, "you look like the guy from the TV!"

"'The TV'?" Arrowhead asked, lowering one brow with confusion. "Uh... was there a documentary on hyenas? I didn't think they usually lived in this part of Adagestli. Even where we're from's a little far east for that."

The father mink cleared his throat to explain context. "Oh, there was a long report this morning on one of our province legislators. I can see the resemblance, though considering you're both hyenas, I don't think you've got to worry about being mixed up. Anyway, this guy'd gotten caught filching tax revenue for his own pocket. He hadn't even gotten very far, but his trial verdict was announced today: eight years behind bars. I know these things are bad, but..."

Paint was dismayed to hear it; her ears drooped for the poor, even if guilty, politician. "_Years_? Just for running off with some money? That can't be right - he didn't even hurt anyone."

"Not physically, maybe," Cayne's father admitted, "but..."

"Well, I mean," contended his daughter - also saddened, albeit likely for a different party - "those people were just following the law and giving back. I know it's bad, but... well, that was a mean thing to do!"

"I guess..." Paint muttered, leering discontentedly but with unfocused eyes down at her feet.

Unconcerned, Arrowhead brought up a different point. "You said that revenue was from the entire province?"

"Well, really, I don't know how many districts he got through - it was implied, not many," the elder mustelid reiterated, "but potentially, yeah, citizens from all the way to the Techokkan border or the eastern ocean."

_The ocean_. Mental images of Freedom, the still-distant next frontier, draped down in beautiful gossamer inside Paint's head, and her two nearby buddies looked to have been reminded of their current, outstretching task just the same, so she decided it was time to excuse them. Besides, it was getting late; they could find some sort of accommodations or, at the very least, sleep in another parked lot in the truck somewhere, in Yakhtanmantannji proper. These visions, while less spectacular, were much closer and more tantalizing. "I... uh, hope they're all recompensed, then. So..." she equivocated, still never quite having gotten the hang of graceful, suave goodbyes.

Carol's father smiled sweetly. "It's okay. Uh... I don't know if you'll be coming back anytime soon, but I can tell Cayne would do cartwheels if you guys called her sometime."

She had slipped back to join her brothers in some kind of improvised three-way arm-wrestling match, but did excuse herself and pipe up with a task she had forgotten. "Oh! That's right! You guys need my number!" She hopped in two eager leaps over to a drawer, where she rifled through a crumbling labyrinth of guitar picks, compact discs both in and out of their cases, and an assortment of other sundry items until she located a satisfactory paper scrap and a pen, which she shook up to loosen up its ink well and wrote her own phone number for their future reference. Paint gladly took it, glancing at the string of digits and back at her separating friend.

"Alright," Paint confirmed, "We will - at, uh, the very least, hehe - call you sometime! We're being beckoned by the open road now, but we'll see you then!"

"Byyyyyyyeeeee!" the three kids shouted while waving to the leaving crew as they creaked the ornery door back open and stepped out into the stairwell. The last of the prisoners now returned safely to her home, it was a sad moment, but the adventurers' duty to fully rescue each of their companions had finally been fulfilled, and they had scored some lasting friends out of the deal, too, albeit Paint obviously moreso with the other girls and Arrowhead, Jewel, and Maxwell with the boys. Cayne's promise too had been satisfied: her little fuzzball was happy now, with no wet eyes.

The truck, when they returned to it, was just as they had left it. Maxwell had fallen asleep, but he groggily returned to consciousness when he heard the doors opening and his friends returning to the seats. With only four of them up front, their seating arrangement could finally return to something comfortable. Paint quietly offered to drive, as she felt most comfortable with entering the big city and had accumulated more driving experience than any of the other three, and so the others agreeably settled down.

As it was only early evening, the streets had gotten no less crowded, so she was careful in backing the truck up and routing it from the lot to the main street that jetted efficiently between the corridors of apartment buildings and other inviting public and private establishments. Lights were igniting all around, both in the shadowed buildings and within the translucent chambers of street lamps, and the streets were given a feeling like a night sky draped upon them. Sunset was a stunningly beautiful time, especially if one could share it with one's loved ones as the adventurers were with one another and Cayne must have been by then with the beaver brothers.

As had been visible briefly when they were about to enter Green Island at first, a large wooded area separated it from Yakhtanmantannji proper. She was unsurprised and unconcerned, but Arrowhead was a bit on edge as they entered the forbidding tunnel of evergreens. "Hey, Paint?" he asked. "Remember a couple hours ago when Max asked about the more specific maps?"

"Yeah, why?" she shot back playfully. "Have you abandoned your duty as an explorer, Arrow? I didn't raise you to rely on silly ol' _maps_ in novel locales!"

"Well, haha, no, but I still think..."

He was nearest her, so she took the chance to grab him tight to her with one arm. "It's fine! You're right; I'd probably drive us tail-first into a ravine if I tried to find lodging there myself. Those maps are in the trailer, by the way - when do you want 'em?"

"Uh... is now okay?"

Never down a million roads would he have to ask her twice to do something if he was scared, so she immediately slowed the truck to a halt, jumped out onto the rough pavement, and strode out to the back to retrieve them. Thrusting the trailer's door open, though, brought back an unpleasant reality.

Nisaya and Nettle were still to be dealt with, and they looked awful. Their figures appeared emaciated in the terrible darkness even considering that they had not been fed since the morning. They were beginning to shed, stray purple hairs lying dead and useless for protection against the cold among the dust particles coating the floor. Worst of all, though, were the countenances they wore like funerary cloaks. They were defeated. This was the end; they were going to be locked up for kidnapping, employing child laborers, and Baaritch knew what else - all the requisite legal evidence was right there.

She flashed back to the tale of punitive disaster told by Cayne's father: someone had gotten eight years for doing the wrong thing with money. It wasn't as severe as the sentencing unsuccessfully brought upon poor, innocent Star only about a month earlier, but it simply couldn't have been right. Sure, the wolves had done bad things, but they were in their thirties. They were supposed to be enjoying their early adulthood - and with each other, too; just as they had done to their captives, they would be sent to two separate incarceration facilities based only on their genders despite sharing a special, unbreakable bond. Who knew when they would get out? Would they ever?

She was tearing up at the storming thoughts, incapable even of looking them in their exhausted, baggy eyes. Whatever happened to second chances? They'd already had their taste of being completely overpowered and locked up like, well, criminals, and without any of their money, their weapons, or their vehicle, what would they be able to do to harm anyone now if they somehow weren't behind bars? _Isn't there another way?_ she fumed to herself.

There was, and she knew it. It wasn't easy, and she wouldn't escape unscathed for it, but it was the right thing to do.

Star was awake, and it watched her climb into the trailer. It cooed at her to ask what she had in mind, this noise evolving smoothly to a confused, anxious whistle as she began to loosen the siblings' leg braces. It did not get up to stop her, or even - out of well-meaning innocence, assuming that she had been coerced somehow to do it - to hold them in place. The robot just watched its friend free the two wolves that had captured it, her, and numerous other animals and a human without protesting, and that was what killed her.

"I'm so s-sorry, Star," she whispered through the tears, "but being imprisoned back there taught me j-just how valuable freedom is, and I just can't deny that to them. It's wrong."

"Paint, are you serious right now, like really this dumb?" Nisaya gasped. "Like, this is it? We're free?"

That happiness she could smile at and wipe her eyes dry for. "Yeah," she affirmed, "you're free."

"W-wow," Nettle stuttered in elation, "we've got nothing to our names, and there are a few former employees we'll have to avoid if we're going to stay this way, but... yeah. We can- we can _live_." His hands finally freed, he took his sister's in one and they dismounted the trailer. "Paint? Star?" he said, only as quietly as he would need to be to avoid attracting attention of the three boys up front, "...Thank you. Most people wouldn't do this... and we won't forget you."

"Bye!" she told them while waving them off. Although they had surely been in this area before, they appeared confused at first, but quickly picked the left direction and darted off into the darkness, all of their belongings and need for anxiety left behind them. She wasn't the type to doubt or condemn herself when it came to giving others the same freedom she enjoyed, but it would be no use if she were; they were gone.


	71. Chapter 71

**Author's note: Meant to get to working on this more over break, but I was busy for most of each day with job applications, tax forms, and various errands and couldn't concentrate much on writing in the short intervals I did have to myself. Ah, well, ya live, ya learn. All right, time to return to the cheeriest subject this side of that dried-out pollution river! :D**

After jumping out of the trailer, Paint prepared for a walk short in surveying, but grueling in anticipation, back to the cab. Before she could make it very far, however, the door was blasted open and Maxwell made it easier on her.

His eyes were not untarnished by her deed, and he would see to it that she knew that. With flexing motions in both arms better befitting of someone with no shoulder injury and wearing sleeves, the insect marched over to her position, laserlike and deliberate like a retaliation missile.

She thought for a second that she might soften him up with a cute, guilty grin. "Uheheh, h-heeeyyy, Max!" she stammered. "O-oh, that's right, I never looked for those maps, silly me... ah..."

He wasn't having it. Unsympathetic to her fearful tensing, he leapt forward and tackled her to the hard ground. He landed a rocketing punch with his bad arm at her jawline, shaking in place as much from raw anger as from the pain.

"_WHAT _WERE YOU_ THINKING?!_" he screamed as though he were as far away from her as her father. She raised an arm weakly to protect her face, but made no attempts to push him off her, let alone attack _him_ in any way - and that was convenient, because he wasn't done. "_DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA IN THAT STUPID HEAD OF YOURS WHAT YOU JUST DID, PAINT?!_" He couldn't even control himself at this point; he jabbed her over and over, and she never once fought back. She had known every second how the nature of the reception of her actions would be, but that didn't make it any easier. She could only cry - why did it have to be so hard?

Fortunately for both of them, Maxwell's blizzardous hatred was outnumbered by three other, more friendly seasons. Star toddled out of its confines, shrieking at its unexpectedly violent friend to stop, and Arrowhead and Jewel ran up to the altercation as well. "_Max, get off her!_" Arrowhead screamed, and he and Jewel pulled the boy away, while Star quickly stepped in front of the poor creature to protect her. A pitiful final lunge toward the helpless, quaking Paint convinced the insect that he did not, in fact, have it in him to assault her any further, but he was in no way calmed by the imposition of physical peacetime.

This cessation in physical conflict, however, did not mean the conversation was over. Arrowhead reverted his stare to Paint. "What _were _you thinking?" he demanded.

Even Jewel and Star were upset. "Paint... w-why?" the more vocally adept of the two pled. She wanted to explain her cause, trying perhaps both the rational and emotional appeals to her friends' better natures, but found herself unable to get much past stuttering when stared down by four faces with such divergent levels of pointed anger, but all the same piercing look of betrayal.

Arrowhead kicked the truck's tire in frustration, pulling his foot back and massaging his aching toe when it was stiffer than he had expected. He stared helplessly up at the impatient evening sky, breathed deeply out, and at long last allowed his rational side to regain control of him. "Paint... you just freed two people who... enslaved us - who- who knows what they're gonna do now. I don't see any possible reasoning that would convince you to do that..." - and, for this, he seemed to want the others listening - "...but you must have had _some_ reason. I know you. But... _why?_"

Paint squirmed around and felt the tough asphalt under her backside and her tails brushing against the unwelcoming surface - she had not noticed herself sinking down into an upright fetal position to hide from the storm of anger. She did not get up, however; she looked up at him and them, pleading with her giant eyes for understanding, and stammered, "Th-that guy. In Cayne's house. That her dad talked about. The politician. He's going away for... e-eight _years_! And he barely did anything! Nisaya and Nettle... they'd be considered guilty of a lot more!"

"I think extorting all those people's money is 'something'..." Jewel murmured.

"They _are_ guilty of a lot more!" Maxwell growled.

"B-but they're not bad!" cried the wolves' single stubborn defender. It sounded ridiculous even to her, but she was passionate about it, insistent that the pressure would not get the better of her. "They were just..." - her delivery began to falter as she saw their eyes piercing her every word - "...driven to... bad things by necessity! But they could've been so much worse to us! A-and they were sorry about it! I know they were!"

Maxwell wasn't backing down, either. "Tell me, Paint," he insisted with a chillingly icy delivery to match her fiery passion, "d'you ever hear the human phrase 'crocodile tears'?" It could be considered ethnically insensitive in modern times, but his point was clear as glass. She couldn't shake worrying whether she wasn't being irrational, but the same could apply to him - it was as though he was driven by a cause much greater, much fuller of fury, to shoot down everything she stood for.

While Jewel hadn't pledged any ideological allegiance to Paint's side, he seemed to think the conflict had climbed too high. "Well... they won't do too much harm now, right? Maybe they are... 'guilty', but they're guilty without any way of keeping on committing crimes." He couldn't bring himself to challenge his superior directly, but was speaking to him as unequivocally as his lilting eye movements in Maxwell's direction would let him.

Paint was hugely grateful for the support, obscure in origin as it was. "Yeah!" she cheered, her tails flicking energetically as she snapped back into action. "They're just empty-handed vagabonds now! They may still carry their dreams as close to their hearts as ever, but they've got no weapons, no clothing, no money - they even left Nisaya's jacket, their movies, and Alice's and my crystalline gold-strike!" Now was not the time to push her luck out loud, but she even felt bad for them having left the belongings that _were_ theirs behind.

Arrowhead, whom Maxwell trusted much better as a figure of reason, was sure to give his thoughts as well. "Yeah, I'm not sure I see how they're gonna commit too many more heinous crimes with no money, n-no tools of nefarity, to their names. ...And if they want to stay safe, keeping away from the kids they captured - and especially their _families_ \- is probably a good idea."

It didn't matter a bit. "When's it gonna end, Paint?" he seethed.

This was uncomfortable. "When's wh-"

"All of it! Why'd we get trapped in that death-pit to begin with?!"

"...Because th-"

"Because you thought trusting two sketchy adults, with no reason to help us, to cab us halfway across the stinking continent was a no-brainer! Why'd you and your robot buddy almost get yourselves an early ticket to the graveyard - and the same for the whole village when its estranged family showed up for a friendly little visit?!"

"But that's not fair!" she cried. "Star-"

"Because you thought making best friends with the most harmless, nonviolent flunky of the most evil dictator on the planet was just too charitable to pass up! Oh," he spat, "and why did your life get to the point that you jumped on your first chance to see your ol' dad again? How did I get like... like _this_?!" He reached his good arm back to slap the other shoulder, where his wing joined it, and demonstrate, gritting his teeth through the pain, what her decision-making style had done for him. Star had taken on a countenance of great sadness listening to him, but was startled out of its doldrums at watching this display.

"I'm sorry! I know! I screwed up!" she admitted, recoiling herself at Maxwell's tremors as though her morose reverie that night had come true and she were incapacitated just the same. "But I just wanted to make Alice feel better," she continued, "and we can still-"

"How did you get an entire town, except for your ol' toad buddy here, turned against you in the first place?!"

Agonizing memories of her first decade and change at home flooded her once more. She sank down and started to cry again as every Sunny Clearing adult who'd ever yelled her into the very same position for accidentally endangering their child, ruining their romantic evening, or destroying the crops with which they'd been planning to feed themselves, their families, and the whole village came stampeding back in her head, just as angry as before. "Max..." she croaked in a pitiful voice unbefitting of even the feeblest amphibians, "I just-"

"Being just that nice doesn't cut it in the real world, Paint! That's what real people do! We think! We make decisions with our _brains_! And if we're not _able_ to be real leaders who are at least with-it enough to keep their friends safe, _we don't lead_!"

And that settled it. With all the raging force of the wind that could no longer carry him, he stormed off on foot, not even bothering to reclaim his backpack. If he really was leaving Paint and all her insidious troubles behind, he was too angry in doing it to remember any of his belongings - besides one. "Come on, Jewel!" he screamed back.

Paint stared up from her sinkhole of despair for Jewel to at least stay with her, and he wasn't in any sense of the word comfortable with leaving, but he just couldn't bring himself to stay. He turned his head away from the other three as fast as he could to keep an immediate return out of mind, then trotted off to Maxwell. They were disappearing into the forest preserve by now and thus completely inaccessible by truck, but looked to be talking something out, with nary a kind word in the firefly's vocabulary.

So she was down to two. But Star stood by her side to protect her once again - it no longer even mattered what from - and Arrowhead knelt down with her, put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, and calmly reassured, "We're not going anywhere."

"R-..." - sniff - "really?"

"And I'm not sure they are, either," he speculated. "I mean, all their stuff's here, Max still has his injury, and the wolves have experiences with getting off their butts and starting new, successful lives, but Max and Jewel don't. I won't be surprised if they do get back here as soon as they cool down a little." She sighed with relief: even if they had kicked her into the moral gutter, she at least wanted them to be safe.

"Paint?" he added.

"Mm?"

"What you did was stupid. Really stupid."

Her own thoughts aside, she could no longer dismiss the accusation, especially not from her Arrow. "...I know."

"...But you were doing it from the good in your heart. And maybe I'm still upset... but I love that about you."

Against the chilly breezes augmenting the tension of the moment, that warmed her up inside. She reoriented her body and tumbled down, resulting in her head landing in his lap. Star quietly sat down beside them, and the three of them stared up at the sky. Although she remained worried for her two estranged friends, there was nothing at the moment she could do but sit with him, listening to his heartbeat and enjoying the rollicking heavens up above, one of the only things she knew more diverse in color than herself. A car passed once in a while from Green Island to Yakhtanmantannji or vice versa, at least one driver no doubt befuddled by the sight of an animal, an animal-plant, and a robot sitting on the asphalt shoulder beside a truck, but they didn't care.

As night fell at long last and Maxwell and Jewel came tramping back, the former's tail marking his welcome presence like a halo, Paint followed through on her predilection to forgive and accept, and if Maxwell was still quite as enraged as before, he hadn't the heart to show it any longer. Not a word passed from a single mouth as they entered the cabin once more to make good with what they still had of the night, and the city lights welcomed the travelers in with all the warmth and excitement they could.


	72. Chapter 72

"Um... Paint?" Jewel asked sweetly. "I'm not meaning to be ungrateful, and we sure do have a lot in one place anyway, but it looks like your fifth of the money is... a little bigger than the rest of ours." A light breeze whistling around the low-height buildings of the city, one to the next, made its way into the fur crowning his head, jostling the hairs about until he frantically and with three claws combed them back down.

"Tch," Maxwell spat. Even with a small fortune in paper bills set before him on the pavement of the pawn-shop parking lot, he had a hard time looking Paint in the eyes for any longer than was necessary. "What'd you expect, Jewel?"

"No, Paint's the best of us at math and she'd never lie to us," Arrowhead pondered aloud. "But Paint, uh... what'd you have in mind here? I mean, you did just tell us you'd be sharing your winnings from the old diamond, and that's really nice of you, but..." Trailing off, he fidgeted without thinking with the city map they had picked up from a gas station. Change in the glove compartment and between the seats had only barely paid for a solid partial refill of their tank, making considerations of their personal finances all the more important.

"Oh, sorry!" she laughed, motioning to the pile not distributed to any of her fellows. "No, here, d'you guys notice how this slice is sixty percent? Only a sixth of it's mine, just like the ten percent you all have - the rest is for Alice."

"Alice?" The toad raised a skin-smooth eyebrow-region at the strange plan. "How're you-"

"I'm gonna mail it to her!" she explained. "I'm a bit in arrears with owings lately, so I think it's only fair to recompense the one who _did_ find the thing in the first place as soon as I can." He smiled at her so, satisfied with her work, she took the map from him and made a mental note of two marked destinations: a shop for musical instruments and a post office. If Maxwell were so inclined, she would have loved to use his tail to see better, but she could still make the map out well enough in the big city's polluted night sky if she squinted.

"Oh, the girl who'da been just fine without us blowing half our money on her?" the insect yawned, his lit tail kept to his own orbit. "Nice to see you're learning to say no and leave well enough alone."

She was hurt by his persistent insults, but didn't think it appropriate to show it - she was still glad to have him and Jewel back, after all. "Nope!" she admitted half-heartedly. "Haven't learned one bit."

She did, however, notice him wincing with pain when repositioning himself on the cold, hard blacktop had him lean briefly on his bad arm and flex the corresponding shoulder. She ventured another suggestion, one he might personally find more agreeable. "And so dumb, complacent ol' me's gonna get you all fixed up." It was only fair given the genesis of his injury, but she did want to rebuild a positive relationship with him. "Hehe," she chuckled, "I bet even _you_ couldn't turn that one down!"

Arrowhead was befuddled by the situation. "Paint, don't you care about having any money left? I mean, out of that whole diamond's winnings, you'll have..."

"What?" She looked into his eyes, a bit more earnest and less tied to her diplomatic, joking attitude current to the moment than she had intended. "Nah, I don't care about that stuff. I'm not a woman who likes to be tied down with possessions anyway." Forgetting to follow social custom and look away, she imagined an ascetic life with few of them and little concern for money - it felt marvelous.

Maxwell cleared his throat, jolting her to attention. "Uh... nice to see you know yourself, Paint," he said, "but if you haven't been paying attention, there are less lights on in these buildings than there were. If we're gonna go anywhere tonight, how about us hopping back in and hitting the road before they close up shop?"

"Oh!" She sprang to it, giving him a friendly rub on the top of the head, this seeming to be about the most physical affection she could give without jostling his poor wing. "Yeah, let's! I guess it's only sensical that even the cosmopolitan varieties of commercial and civic employees need some shut-eye once in a while. But we can press our luck to pop in before then!"

They recollected their dividends, Jewel gathering Star's, and turned back in for another drive. From his shared position of moral authority with the others, Arrowhead had convinced a glum Paint not to let an Eggman creation out where people could see, but all parties had found the consensus satisfactory that the robot deserved reimbursement for its traumatizing stretch in captivity just as much as they did. Still, it would be unfair if it didn't in any way get to enjoy Yakhtanmantannji with them because of its biology alone.

"Bravest warriors," she instructed in her deepest narrator voice after they had all sat down, "Sir Arrowhead the Toad and Sir Jewel the Hyena of humble, idyllic Sunny Clearing, the quest has been bequeathed upon you to direct your loyal phylliform steed, whom you've taken to calling 'Paint', to carry your wounded, valorous compeer Sir Maxwell the Firefly to the nearest apothecary, that he might be for but a hen's song harbored to recuperate. Sir Arrowhead and Sir Jewel... are you up to the cartographic challenge?"

"We... ah... indubitably... yes, are!" Jewel sputtered, turning visibly red across the face. "But you'll have to get on the highway first - I think that's going to be the fastest way, anyway."

"'High-way'? I have never heard of such a structure! Might there be handsome, well-decorated princes of further kingdoms for me to peruse on this 'high-way'?"

Maxwell just glared at her.

"Sorry," she exhaled, reverting to a normal voice. "Let's go!"

Paint was able to keep a face of optimism while piloting their craft _to_ the urban freeway, but actually driving _on_ it was a different animal. Steering a solitary vehicle on a road was all fine and dandy, but now she had trapped them in a cascade of vehicles - most of them smaller, all of their headlights screaming against the darkness, and all of them shuttling forward at over a hundred miles an hour.

If Seedrians were born with enjoyment and skill for navigating vehicles through endless dark canvases with blindingly bright bodies of light speckled all around them, then Paint had failed to inherit it, this particular predilection replaced in her genetic code with foxes' timid, skittish nature during overwhelming situations. To make matters worse, she was trapped in a slow-whirling whirlpool of vehicular incompetence: when she drove badly in response to the terrors, people honked, and when people honked, she was startled once more.

They had entered the highway in a residential, low-energy neighborhood, but the buildings walling off each side evolved over the miles from houses, to apartment buildings, to skyscrapers. The sights were simply awe-inducing for creatures who, like them, had never seen such things up close before, but she was in no position to enjoy them.

Arrowhead gave her a light tap on the shoulder. Though focusing on letting a squirrel pass her in her lane, she replied, "...Yeah?"

"Our exit's coming up," he soothed. "Did you see the sign on the last overpass? 'Bamboo Ave: next right; 1 mile'."

"Oh..." The impatient driver passed, moving then on to another lane without bothering with his turn signal. "Cool..." she muttered.

"You're doing fine, though... _right_?" he chuckled.

"Fine?" She eyed an opening in the flurry of motorists and scurried over to the exit lane in a flash. "Of course I am!" She sighed with relief at the out he'd given her.

The non-emergency wing of the hospital the group had selected had a bodacious parking lot - nice and free of dramatic, dangerous obstructions despite its location downtown. When Paint stopped the truck, she looked expectantly in Maxwell's direction. "...Thanks for the ride, I guess," he admitted, coughing with a clamor whose origin must have lain at least possibly in self-disgust.

"You are _very_ welcome, Max!" she giggled back at him.

He frowned. "Just to be clear... I'm not 'over' what you did back there... even though I guess you explained your half-brained reasons alright. Me and Jewel only came back to you because we... knew _you_ wouldn't be safe without us around. So just be glad about that."

It was a laughably poor excuse and horrible as a gesture of friendship, but she didn't care; she was just glad to have him back and on his way to good health once more. "Well, I sure am!" she admitted. She began to undo the manual locks to both doors of the cabin - including his so he wouldn't have to - but he stopped her once more.

"Uh..." he grunted. "You probably shouldn't come." She couldn't have denied being a little hurt until he gave his explanation, which was in all actuality quite reasonable in its curt dismissiveness. "Me suffering this was traumatic to us both, so it'd just go easier if you kinda..."

She assured him with her hands of surrender up, "Can do!" He decided that he did, however, want Arrowhead by his side, to which she also accepted. With his deposit in hand to use as much of as the mending of his injury required, firefly and toad were off into the hospital's warm glow, close as if evolution had been on the side of their friendship all along.

It wasn't until then that it hit her how long it'd been since she'd had time to just sit and take a breather from the action. "No time for relaxation, huh?" she wheezed. Jewel looked exhausted, too, and he hadn't even been spending nearly the time driving that she had. Without a word needed between them, they tumbled out of the truck like it was a sauna that had long ago crossed the threshold from steamy to muggy and brought precisely zero rejuvenating benefits with it. In that moment, she might not have minded if the vehicle, helpful to their journey as it was, had vanished from their lives altogether.

That would not be a concern for the time being, so she stretched her limbs with him and pondered things to do while they waited. They convened after a short deliberation to walk into town and find something, which was as suitable an activity as any. The duo of Paint and Jewel hadn't any time to themselves - and together - very often, so they would be enjoying each other's company a great deal.


	73. Chapter 73

"'Maxwell the Firefly'?" crackled the gruff, tired voice on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, but I don't see a name like that i- ...oooohhh, the firefly boy who just arrived, with the shoulder and wing injuries!"

"Yeah, that's him!" Paint exclaimed, unconsciously holding the dirt-encrusted receiver tightly to her face like a poor cold-blooded animal she was trying desperately to keep warm. "When do you think he's gonna be out?"

"Uh... what the doctor's typed in his auto-updating hospital record is that he'll need a minor surgery to repair the damage, and he'll be coming out with a small, localized cast to keep the area from stretching too much and a small number of pills for the pain. You'll have to sign for his release and the medication, and he'll be a little groggy for a while, but you should be able to pick him up at 12:30 am. Our clock says it's 9:28 now. Will that be okay?"

"Yup! Thanks for the help!" she chirped. Jewel smiled expectantly at her.

"Sure, miss. Oh, and can I have your name to take down?"

"Paint the Seedrian-Fox, the one and only! I can dictate that with an improvised acronym if you can't hear."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Paint - 'Seedrian-Fox', you said? Well, I'll be d-... Anyway, just come over in three hours to see your friend. Alright?"

"Sure will, thanks!" She placed the receiver back in its cradle and handed it to the barista, who quietly returned it to its compartment behind the desk.

Their small table against the wide glass windows was still waiting faithfully for them in all its grubby, homely beauty, and the cups of tea they had bought were waiting right with it. They sank back into their chairs, stretching their legs with relief that they would finally have the chance to simply sit down, relaxed, and talk for a while - for its own sake, with no need or want to concentrate on anything else. Paint lazily reached one arm out to pull another chair over to the table's edge halfway between her and him; she laid her legs on it while angling the front of her body around to see her friend, and he did the same.

A nuance she had come in short order to learn about urban life was that one was always up for massive over-stimulation of the senses. A pleasant, cozy musk of roasted coffee beans hung in the air, skirted by wisps of cigarette smoke and pungent beverages she would only have ordered on a more adventurous, less tired night. Through the air perforated lively chatter from all the interesting people around them, and an iguana who reminded Paint of a younger, fitter Morris sat on a ragged couch and howled over his weak-clawed strums of an acoustic guitar that seemed to physically rust despite its organic composition.

The wall's base coating was of a dull off-beige, but countless of wry-minded customers had used any and all writing utensils available to make their own marks; there were pairs of names stuck snugly into hearts, song lyrics, poetry, lewd jokes, text in strange languages she had never seen before, unflattering caricatures of celebrities, and countless tic-tac-toe games in disappointingly inconsistent states of completion. Now that she looked, there were even a few permanent markers in a well-stained coffee mug on the counter, with a couple more lazily thrown down beside it.

But this was time for her friend. She idly directed her eyes to his, smiled unassumingly at him, and asked, "So... what's on your mind, Jewel?" She hoped her genuine desire to take the opportunity to get closer to him privately wouldn't be lost in the tragic overused character of the question.

"What? On my mind?" He didn't seem to feel equipped to deal with such a vague question, and he looked timidly around as though the surroundings might offer some kind of concrete guidance, but they only bumped him back to her. "...N-not much, I guess. ...Max!" he triumphantly concluded. "Max is on my mind. ...I'm eager to see him feeling better, and I wonder if he and Arrow are talking about anything."

That she hadn't thought about. "Yeaaaaahhhh... I don't know. I can grok Max being uncomfortable with having me along, but it did seem kinda weirdly deliberate that he thought Arrow - and not his best buddy, Jewel - should be the one to flock him."

"Well, um... I don't know," Jewel admitted. "Maybe he's just had enough of me - f-for now, anyway. I mean, he's always had a good relationship with Arrow, as far back as I know, but _I_ have been, well... leeching off of him for years now."

"'Leeching'?" The word choice upset her. Jewel was a very good friend; he deserved better after all this time than to think of himself as a parasite. "I don't think so. Max loves you, even if he could use some work at showing it."

"I don't know; us being friends seems like... a pretty unbalanced exchange." He sighed wistfully and blew on his tea.

"What?" she gaped, pulling her legs off the chair to connect her eyes better to his. "No way! Sure, he's great at defending you, but-... ah..."

She'd spoken too fast and gone too far, encroaching on Jewel's turf in the process. He stared at her. "...But he _does _defend me," he explained. "He always has. It's not a minor thing, Paint."

The conversation ball was clearly in his possession, so she nodded and sipped her tea, greening him in to continue. He did. "Older boys and girls - I used to get beaten up by them. I wasn't able to make myself fight back. I couldn't do it. So..." - and he motioned with one weak hand motion out the darkened window - "he did."

As he nervously re-positioned his tea in a more ergonomically opportune place on the table, she saw the impressive, if unexceptional, power flexing into view in his arm muscles. She instantly flashed back to those weeks ago when he had forced her herself into submission with them - but it being only Jewel, who would not dream of hurting someone if he could somehow get out of it, kept the memory from carrying any kind of trauma with it. It was merely a fact of their shared past, something they had fallen victim to together.

Instead, his strength gave her the desperate idea to reassure him that he would have been plenty capable of fighting back against his aggressors alone. Yet one look at his timid face reminded her why, firstly, that was not the case and, secondly, it would have been of little consolation.

"And all I've ever done for him is... help out with things," he murmured out of nowhere, this wrapping up his point about their relationship.

"I know you like Max a lot," she replied at once before she could think it over, "but you don't have to let him boss you around; you never have. You're your own guy."

She had had a second chance to be polite and understanding; she had failed again. Hurt washed through his eyes as he stared at her once more. "Well... he's not wrong," Jewel asserted bitterly, uninterested in details. "He's good at discerning when other people are being... rash, or thoughtless about common sense. He's good at... putting people in their place when they aren't thinking."

There was little question that Jewel had in mind only the children and teenagers from Sunny Clearing who had bullied him when Maxwell was not around, but she couldn't find it in herself to be angry. She almost wanted to cry, but could find no sufficient justification for that, either. "...I know he is," she admitted quietly to him. "Listen, Jewel." He looked up.

"I can't lie about it," she stated. "I don't know if I am sorry about letting Nisaya and Nettle go free, and even if anyone could make me feel that way, they're way too far gone now. Obviously you know I don't think they're up to any harm, but in terms of the empirical facts by themselves, we just don't know.

"But I also can't lie about this. I love you guys - every one of you, individually and as a whole. I don't know where I'd be if you guys had decided against coming with me to meet my dad. Maybe I'd have died trying and my skeleton would fade into dust without anyone from Sunny Clearing ever learning. But you'd have been totally within reason not to do it. I'd have lived out my last breaths... not thinking of the purebred fox I'd close my eyes for the last time without ever meeting... but of Star rebelling against its creator to become a sweet and caring being and vindicating me to the rest of our village, Max defending my right to stick around there at my trial, Arrow taking me in whenever his family let him so I could eat all his food, read him random and useless facts from his family's books, and take him on dangerous, pointless adventures... and you having the courage - which I know you always will - to protect and stick with me behind Max's back after he'd dug the very worst out of you. And I'd have died happy.

"And that's why... why now that I'm still breathing and photosynthesizing in the living world, I can't do this alone. I'm an idea girl, sure, but I need you guys to help patch up the cracks. I want you all to see the extents of the beautiful world we live on at least as much as I do, but that's a ship I can't pilot alone. I just... need a kick in the butt sometimes."

Jewel took a long, deep sip of his cooling tea, looked his friend up and down, craned his leg under the table, and kicked the bottom of her chair. They both burst into laughter, and it was clearer then than it'd been all evening that they were good now.

"O-okay," she said to him once they'd calmed down so she could wipe her eyes clean again, "maybe we can put the others aside for a while. What do _you_ want to do while we're here?"

"In-in Yakhtanmantannji at all?" he stammered, "or just here in this cafe?"

"Either! Got any ideas?"

"Well, um..." He ogled the entire space of the cafe, but the other, often loud Mobians quickly began to grate on him, so he shrank back into his and Paint's shared personal space and stared up and down the walls. His eyes seemed particularly focused after a bit on the empty spaces, so she tiptoed up and brought back two of the permanent markers from the counter, quietly thanking the barista once again. He had been too distracted to notice until she tapped him gently on his furry golden shoulder with one and handed it to him.

Paint and Jewel simply stayed quiet as the din of the other customers went on around them, and the asemic scribbles they started out with evolved quickly into legitimate drawings - especially Jewel's. From his lowly, convenience-store-brand utensil spilled a surprisingly authentic-looking train, with detailed and varying styles of cars and a helpful assortment of passengers leaning out. Something long and flexible in shape like that was about all that was practical given how marked up the walls already were, but he faithfully kept his train running as it snaked around other people's writings that began with phrases like _OUR GOVERNOR IS A GIANT..._ and _AMY ROSE HAS A NICE..._

It was a shame, she felt, that he had apparently not thought this interest prudent to share with the more realism-driven Solakku, but she felt privileged to be watching it in glorious, inspiring action now, with him alone. He realized after an embarrassingly long time that he was being watched, but she quickly assuaged his instinctive fears of being somehow mocked, in case he wasn't fully sure that she didn't have a mocking bone in her body. "Can I help?" she asked, and he smiled to accept her into his newly created world. Her drawings hadn't developed beyond abstract designs, but she added around his train a medieval, fantastical town. Her proportions and attention to detail could have used work, but he graciously went with it. Her stone archway allowed his train through, and it in turn impatiently zoomed by her quaint-looking, unintentionally narrow tavern.

Even with their fairly high level of detail in the communal drawing, it needed more space eventually. They first resorted to standing on their chairs and leaning over the table in order to continue it, then to standing on the table, which thankfully was stable and pressed snugly against the wall. Finally, she gently grabbed him around the waist and picked him up so that he could keep drawing; she was content to let her face mash lazily into his back as he kept on going. When they realized not long thereafter that the cafe had quieted down - from others watching them thoughtfully as well as from the place simply growing emptier with the night - it hit them how ridiculous they probably looked. She giggled and suggested, "Ready to bring the line to a finish?" In short order he did: the train ended at a metal buffer standing stubbornly across the tracks, and a small crowd of passengers prepared to board. They got down, took sips of their tea cups well past the stage of "lukewarm", and admired their handiwork.

Suddenly, Jewel spoke to her with absolute wonder in his voice. "Paint... look at _that_."

Confused as to his referent at first, she followed his pointing finger like a laser beam until she saw it. Her jaw slid open. It was her mother. It was Cosmo.

Not in real life, of course, but the form sketched out by some long-gone customer who must've been knowledgeable on the news stories of Tails and company saving the galaxy's hide all those years ago was unequivocal. Her ears were just like Paint's, but lighter and softer. Her face was smooth and angelic, definitively non-Mobian - she had inherited more of her father's - but delicate and serene all the same. She didn't appear to have any nose bridge to speak of, but when Paint looked into her mother's eyes, or what the impromptu artist had been able to convey of them, she saw her own looking back at her. All in all, Cosmo was just as Paint had dreamt her as she slept with her friends in the rain on that one night, but came apparently from a society that liked clothing - and hers was a beautiful dress of woven palm-like leaves. Some sort of gemstone or convincing forgery was embedded in the gown's chest region.

Paint felt as though the intertwined, inexplicable botanical half of her body was lighting up to give its artist a jovial retroactive greeting. Her heart warmed tremendously, though, when she saw the drawer's message scribbled under his or her work.

_NO MATTER HOW DARK OR DISTANT THEIR LANDS OF ORIGIN, HEAVEN IS REIGNED OVER BY THE MOST COURAGEOUS AMONG US. __MOBIUS WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU_.

"...That's my mom," she choked, clutching Jewel's side.

Although it in no way diminished his wonder at the work, he eventually alerted her quietly to a mundane fact of the situation: the clock showed that it was time for them to pick Maxwell and Arrowhead up from the hospital, where she as financial sponsor would sign the recuperating firefly out. She gulped the languishing dregs of her tea down, checked that Jewel was done with his, and took a stroll around the staying customers - who were also beginning to look rather tired - to the front door. Before she opened it and strode out into the night, though, she took one last mental snapshot of the picture and words - and made it count. Her conviction that she would also be surer to think out her decisions and heed her best friends' input in the future perfectly safe, what her mother had been was something she could feel positively honored to harbor inside.


	74. Chapter 74

**Author's note: Hey, readers, I'm not the type to beg, certainly not to hold stories hostage, but I'd appreciate it greatly if you left a review, even a quick one, so I know what you think of my most recent chapter. Thanks!**

Black. Red. Orange. Yellow. Paint creaked her eyes open, yawned, and took a few seconds to reorient herself to the hotel room and adjust to the bright light pouring in from the wide windows. It was a nice establishment, but the four animals had come to it in the most desperate of circumstances last night: all exhausted, not least of all the still-medicated Maxwell, and willing to fork over as many communal mobiums as it took to find warm, relaxing beds to catch up on much-needed sleep.

She checked the others out. Looking to her immediate right in the twin bed, she saw an immovable lump under the covers: Arrowhead was still asleep. Maxwell and Jewel in bed number two were also yet to awaken, so for now the waking population of room six hundred and thirty-one was her and her alone.

What a pretty first step into the new day in the big city this was, though. The daffodil-print wallpaper was obviously not in tune with the tastes of modern Mobian youth, but the feeling of warm safeness it connoted was welcome. In stark contrast, however, were a number of modern conveniences: a refrigerator, a lamp, some kind of wilted but apparently once-loved plant in a plastic flowerpot, a desktop computer - she would like to get around to learning how to use a keyboard someday - and a television with a diagonal screen dimension equal at least to one and a half Maxwells stretched from foot to antenna.

A big screen had to mean a huge amount of fun, so she rolled out of bed to try it out. The shifting covers chafed Arrowhead's skin, dragging him out of dreamland with her. "Sorry," she whispered when she saw him rubbing his eyes clean of the fog of unconsciousness, but he waved the apology away; he wanted to check everything out, too. Together, and without bothering to wake their other two close friends, they puzzled over the assortment of buttons that adorned the device, pressing them at random until the toad's common-sense lobe was unsheathed that they should press the large, red one. Sure enough, the screen clicked on, sending out a tiny, staticky noise rivaling the pitch of a wheezing car tire on helium.

When the display lit up, they were greeted by a middle-aged human woman and man scurrying through a network of dilapidated underground tunnels, punctuated by strange shots of horrific ancient rituals practiced in similar locations. This appeared to be some kind of horror film, and it looked wonderful.

"...and Lindsey Thorndyke," boomed the narrator's voice, showing a close-up of the anxious woman - this must have just been a trailer for the film. Somehow, studio magic had made her appear beautiful, with her blue eyes and crimson hair, despite the grime, sweat, and physical fear gripping her face.

As the advertisement played on, getting more horrific by the second, Maxwell and Jewel groggily came to, unsettled by what they saw onscreen. "Don't worry, it's just a movie," Arrowhead noted to them. Another commercial had started anyway, and everyone was up now, so he silently powered the television back off.

Maxwell groaned and tried to fall back asleep, but his cast and the bottle of pain pills beside him called out to be noticed. Paint jumped to her feet, grabbed them, and enthusiastically came to his side. "Rise and shine, wing-man!" she cried, and fished a pill out for him. "C'mon, down the hatch! ...Or do you want to just 'wing' it and be a man today?" she suggested, demonstratively flexing her arms.

"Nah, gimme one," he said, and gulped it down with no water.

"Are you feeling okay?" Jewel asked him worriedly. "You were gritting your teeth and grunting a lot in your sleep..."

"I'll be just fine and dandy... but thanks for asking."

"Good," the toad confirmed, then fidgeted about as though looking for something without wanting to get up from the floor. "So, what would you guys like to do while we're here in the city?"

Maxwell got up from the bed and tenderly rubbed the area of his upper back just out of reach of the helpful cast. The only sound he consciously emitted was a seething exhalation of pain, but they heard something else.

"It sounds like you need some food to help that heal," Arrowhead noted with a friendly smile.

The bright blue sky and sun of the late morning was there just as they had left it, and the sprawling maze of skyscrapers and crowds of people were enjoying it all. It felt great to walk the city streets and explore not only a new locale, but an new type of locale, with no immediate need to get anywhere in particular, but their post-breakfast bellies disagreed.

"Don't let me eat ten pancakes ever again, creeps," Maxwell sighed as though faintly asking for help he knew he could not receive. "My stomach feels like Paint licked all over the inside of it. No offense."

Hers now had the exact gross, syrupy texture to which he was alluding, so she nodded in quiet, pleasant agreement. "At least we're taking the first valiant step in the direction of working that junk off now!" she chirped. She changed recipient for a quick question: "Arrow, where's the map?"

"Back in the room..." muttered the disgruntled planner. He half-heartedly moved out of the way of an exasperated badger mother with a toddler as they passed.

"Good boy!" She scratched the peak of his head approvingly, but elaborated when he failed to appear impressed, "Awww, I'm sorry. We can trudge back there and get it if you want; I just thought it'd be more fun to leave our mischief today up to where the wind carries us! But you're a part of this group, too, and your input's just as v-"

"No, I think I'm fine without it," he said. He lolled his head around on its pestle and smiled at the bounteous sights it took in. Yakhtanmantannji was wide-open and exciting, and this toad was a legitimate part of it.

Jewel tapped his closest of the three accompanying friends on his good shoulder and proposed they give a try to some type of art gallery he had found, the details yet unknown. Everyone seemed game enough, so they walked right in behind him.

The red brick building in which this space was housed was as traditional and unremarkable a specimen of human architecture as could be imagined, but the contents were simply otherworldly. Everything was displayed on the first floor and the exit's wall was fully illuminated by windows out to the busy sidewalk, but this was entirely its own place. No fluorescent or incandescent bulbs appeared to cast light on the remainder of the space; instead there were only candles. And befitting this very much was of the work: some of it was truly startling.

Both paintings of various substances and well touched-up photographs were exhibited, each accompanied by a tiny, indiscriminate plaque of its creator's name and - where self-promotion was due, perhaps in the interest of paying off sticky art student debt - a short blurb about them and their life. The subjects varied to the widest extent imaginable: a colorful, down-home landscape; a bowl of disembodied eyeballs ironically decorated as citrus fruits; a handsome, bearded human man in a regal uniform; a large group of Mobians in masks demonstrating their animalistic love of one another; a wry assortment of sewing utensils on a table; a spacecraft abandoning a cold, barren, sad world. There was no curator in sight, which was honestly quite welcome as these pieces were best enjoyed with the viewer's echoing thoughts as the only sound.

"Let's see Solakku do _this_," Maxwell thought aloud. Although there was little hope of him being the type to appreciate abstract artistic statements, he clearly did have to admire the workmanship behind it all.

He probably hadn't meant much by it, but Paint was troubled nonetheless by his crass statement, and so she retorted with something striking a hopefully ideal midpoint between retribution and joviality. "Man, Solakku could draw circles around these clowns."

"...Yeah, drawing circles doesn't take much talent," he chuckled. "...But who knows," he corrected himself, "maybe that girl will grow up to be something."

Paint certainly hoped so; their short time together had shown her a girl who worked so hard at what she loved. The uncomfortable contemplation about her future notwithstanding, they could not expect to see the cute little turtle again for some time, so it probably wasn't worth dwelling on. Jewel, moreover, was right with them, and it felt acutely tragic that he could not continue his train line or any other manner of imaginative drawing right up with these professional students.

Still, they could worry about such things later: they were tourists today. An impatient Arrowhead pulled the door open so they could file out, and he began to feverishly look around the streets for something else to do. Nothing jumped out as of immediate interest, and so he remained restless. "Hey, chill out, buddy," Maxwell growled with a similar pain in his own eyes.

That didn't feel right. "Something buggi-... something wrong, Max?" Paint inquired.

"No, nothing, except your friend here needing immediate stimulation all the dang time." Maxwell began to squirm and shudder, and when he could take it no longer, he let his arms make a mad dash for his cast, scratching underneath it to the best of their pitiful ability. It seemed like a strange symptom for the phenomenon of wing and muscle tissue healing, but then again, casts in this modern style weren't something available in a town like Sunny Clearing anyway.

Her feeling of hurt on Arrowhead's behalf vanished, and she helped the patient attack his itch. "The pills don't help a bit," he filled in.

"That looks awfully terrible..." Jewel observed quietly. "There's got to be a better way to get at it, I think."

"Something long and thin would do the job," Arrowhead added. "There are twigs of trees with enough sturdiness and, in some cases, even itch-relieving properties that I'd normally recommend, but..."

Maxwell let out a gallows laugh. "But this has to be the _one_ time we're not in the forest, huh? So much for the glory of the big city life - Paint, you're a plant, so how about I tear off some of your fur?"

Arrowhead's eyes rolled, until they reverted to looking around the city's establishments, this time with a narrower purpose. "I wonder if we could use something in a store - buy it if necessary?"

"Too bad Kitokcha's house wasn't around here to have her and her grooming habits with us now," Paint mused. "Well, Max... in the apparent absence of another medicinal solution to your itch, how about your three best animal buddies do what I do best: constant and random distractions?"

"Hmm, distractions do sound like a good idea," Jewel considered. "But what?"

Prodding Paint's brain to come up with such suggestions on such short notice left little guarantee of them holding any practicality. "Uhhhh... how about we play Forward Slash... while keeping track of the cards_ in our heeeeeeads_?" She gave a friskily menacing waggle of her fingers, and as expected, the arthropod was not impressed.

"...Heeeeeyyyy..." Arrowhead recalled out loud, "did that movie from earlier look any good to you?"

His betraying of the slightest, but still intelligible, sign of discomfort at the notion prompted a question from Jewel. "You're not scared of it, are you?"

The hyena received only a sneer and a scoff from his mentor at the thought. "Pfft! Nice try, but I'm not _scared _of something juvenile like that." His eye, however, began to twitch, and an unabashed Jewel sprang to his side to relieve his itch as best he could once more. "I- I guess it'll make do, though," Maxwell admitted.

The nearest theater didn't take long to find - it appeared only a few blocks from their position then, though the irritable Maxwell did end up shoving a few civilians out of his way near the end of the walk - and the line wasn't egregiously lengthy, either. "We'll take four tickets for that flick with the voluptuous human broad," he spat out; the Mobian cashier stared strangely at him for a few seconds, then understood and handed them out in silence in exchange for a few mobiums from each of them. Fortunately for them, a showing was beginning in five minutes.

Still far too full to require any popcorn, soda, or other standard amenities, the four adventurers filed silently into their designated sub-theater, deciding on a spot near the middle to sit down and enjoy their distraction. The room was chilly and pitch-dark excepting the voluminous silver screen, and yet the screen failed to capitalize right away on its visual prominence, settling for only advertising stupid comedies and pretentious romances. Lindsey Thorndyke, the woman from this film, did show her face in another such ad, though.

Only a few other people were in the theater, most of them in the far corners, and all seemed content with the placement of a seemingly endless line of ads before the main feature. "Hey, Arrow," Paint whisper-spoke a bit too loudly, "you itching to st-... a-are you as anxious as I am?"

Maxwell was sitting right between them, with Jewel farther to Arrowhead's right. "Shhh!" the toad shot back nervously, perhaps to economize on phonemes by both reminding her that theaters should be quiet and that certain words ought not be spoken around their friend. He spoke staccato syllables back: "It's-a-bout-to-start-sho-wing... Oop!"

She couldn't help giggling at his slip-up, but Maxwell's monotone, bored response relieved them both: "You weird kids gonna share your notes with the class, or am I gonna have to pick 'em up myself?"

Arrowhead paused to prepare a serious response, but blurted out in spite of himself, "Paint thinks you look like that lady." He blushed deep and hard, and the recipient was only confused.

"Are you telephoning my words like they were made to slight, Arrow?" she perkily retorted. "Well, _I_ think the semblance of his locks to hers is absolutely uncanny" - she ran her head through his scraggly patch of hair - "they were picked from the very same square inch of the angels' garden! And I can practically see Ms. Thorndyke's own baby antennae peeking through already!" Jewel and Maxwell looked at each other and could only shrug their confusion out; the delight belonged to the other two alone.

"Shhhhhhhh!" This time, the noise had come from a few rows and columns away: a disgruntled coyote woman had had enough of their shenanigans. They had no need to fret for boredom or need for more silent distractions, though; the ads had apparently run their course, and the lights were dimming to welcome their patience in with open gates. The spooking hour was upon them.


	75. Chapter 75

**Author's note: Sorry for this one taking so long, everyone! It's long, it's deliberate, and its construction was split down the middle by my laptop failing. Tech support at my university is doing what they can with it, but whether they end up succeeding or not (fingers are crossed!), I'm on public computers for now. Anyway, our heroes' adventure resumes tonight, so welcome back!**

They were welcomed into the film with a display of large, regal, and stately old-fashioned buildings, seen from alternating sweeping helicopter shots and street-level views. This was some kind of city, although it was nothing like Yakhtanmantannji. It had to have been very far away, as it was strange in a few ways even by the standards of viewers who, like them, had never been to any other cities in person. Everything looked a bit old-fashioned, from the cars to the clothing of pedestrians crowding the streets.

Of additional note, although not related to the setting's age, was the apparent absence of any Mobians in sight - it was all humans as far as the eye could see. Paint had a hunch this wasn't just a manifestation of extreme political correctness crowding out all but Mobius' most resented minority group. A subtitle displayed near the screen's bottom confirmed her guess: this was Earth, in the past!

So, this was what city-goers watched, human films! That only sharpened her pre-piqued interest in the introduction, which rather quickly got to the point and showed Ms. Thorndyke, just as advertised, in some type of scatterbrained, hectic office. She was speaking to a rather impatient older man who clearly had better things to be doing than groveling to his incompetent employees. The smart decoration of this complex with accolade-transparent awards and a generous assortment of photographs from strange, exotic locales communicated the message quickly that this was the headquarters of a travel magazine, the type of product Paint had never seen the production of up close, much less of one that was advertising locations on _Earth_, exotic to humans. Perhaps they would get a taste of all this throughout the film.

And indeed they would. This woman revealed her name as "Ms. Gates" - it was strange, but it somehow seemed to fit her. The curmudgeon before her was her boss; he managed journalists and kept their explorational, restless minds in the financial green zone, and toward that goal, he had a new assignment for her. As Ms. Gates' boss described it to her, she was to explore some ancient ruins in a country whose name seemed to consist of a loving family of harsh consonants crumpled together and nothing else. They would be underground, there were horrible legends about them - but of course, civilized people like them needn't worry about evil spirits or anything silly like that - and all in all, it was the spitting verbal image of what they had seen in the trailer. Confirmation bias might have helped Paint along here, but she could've sworn she saw one of her friends shivering at the thought.

"Ooooohhh!" Paint giggled. "Spooky, huh, Max?"

"Pfft... hardly. Yawn" - the word _yawn_, enunciated.

She shrugged and dropped it - he could suit himself for now; only time and the natural increasing tension of artistic works would tell the tale. In the film, Ms. Gates quickly found herself taking off in a tiny, flimsy airplane for the strange land, to take as many pictures and notes for a future critically-raved article as she could. This new country was practically submerged in thick, steamy jungle, and when Ms. Gates quickly excused herself from the airport after hearing some easily dismissable warnings from the locals about how bad an idea it was to explore where she was going to, she found that endemic to this rainforest were some large plants - with mouths. Though she valiantly and successfully brushed them away and continued on with her camera and notepad before she could be devoured alive, these horticultural travesties were truly menacing for an entity that served only as a narrative warning to the obstinate protagonist: they looked like Cosmo after she'd ingested some unpleasant chemicals and snipped all the most beautiful parts of her body off with hedge shears.

Light noises of tough, hairless flesh against plastic chair let Paint know that Maxwell was shivering again. Still, she didn't want to patronize him by pointing that fact out, and if the movie was distracting him from his healing wing, it was doing its job.

Just when Ms. Gates had seemed to escape the plants for real, her ankle caught itself in a vine, which pulled her up to a tree branch in what was probably the most familiar and unlikely type of trap in all media. This predictability did her little good, however, as the plants were still around - and angry. She could not brush them off for long, and just when they had kudzued slowly and surely all the way up to her as she hung helplessly and waited to become an ironic snack to the lower kingdom, a handsome, sweat-glistening man swooped in to slash them away with a perfectly shined machete, killing them all and rescuing her in one fell deus-ex-swoop.

As eye-rolling as the scene might have been, the suspense did not let down. He was a local, but apparently had zero problem following the woman into the ruins she had so desperately sought out as a friendly guide, and in fact insisted on it for the sake of her safety. She accepted his help, and together they strode bravely into the darkness of the temple to collect the most stunning, unforgettable arrangement of exotic photographs the human world had ever known. He was wearing a hat, which he pushed snugly onto his crown as they entered.

But that was when the real horrors started.

Advertisements could be deceptive, but outright lying seemed unlikely, and sure enough, the horrific glimpses from the trailer began to leisurely play themselves out. Strange, glowing water deep inside illuminated the disturbing reality that the temple was home to a culture far more prolific with barbaric violence than their own. There were human skeletons everywhere, with the bones found smashed into irreparable bits including phalanges, ribs, vertebrae... and skulls.

They could have avoided it, but no; that would have been too easy. The man washed his face in the liquid to symbolically cleanse it of the horrible thoughts - and his sanity went the way of the natural light. He first complained - articulately - of sights far more horrible around him than what Ms. Gates saw, before becoming violent toward her. She didn't understand the mechanism by which her partner in adventure had lost his mind, and so she splashed her face with the same liquid.

And then the audience got to see it all through her eyes. It was like the most mind-boggling psychedelic drug imaginable, and at once it was completely obvious what had driven those poor people, all those centuries ago, to such barbarity. The pictures didn't even matter at this point; the woman and the man called helplessly out for some kind of relief. Their speech only became more and more incomprehensible, but two words were clear from the grown woman's voice.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

In the theater, there was an unmistakable tension, but something worse was right in the friends' midst. Maxwell was looking on in absolute terror. His antennae were frozen with near-rigor mortis, except that he was very much alive to bask in the words referring to his own parents and the visuals of their own self-wrought fate.

There was no remote control to pause the film, no rickety but life-saving scaffolding to carry them safely off the towering roller coaster. "Psst, Arrow!" Paint whispered urgently to her friend on the firefly's opposite side. "Wanna bust? Max is freaking out."

"Paint, wasn't that the point?" he reminded, just as quietly.

"But not like this! It's too much! Oh, poor Max - why did I have to bring him into something like _this_?" She pounded her head against the ridges of her knees, where the leafier parts met the furrier parts like rocks against brittle bone, as the gruesome scenes raged on onscreen, her drive to remain relatively quiet making for a strange display.

"But he's never gonna learn that it gets better if we go now!" Arrow reasoned to her. "Paint..." he pled, "...you promised."

She sighed and remembered that he was right. His reasoning was indeed sound, and although her heart clung to the poor creature beside her to rescue him immediately from this madness, she understood at once that not only was this irresponsible, but it was the exact kind of naive thinking she'd sworn to try to avoid.

At the very least, she could compromise. It was lucky that she was on the opposite side from his cast, because Maxwell's left side was perfect to gently lean into and remind him that it was just a movie. It might have only been her imagination, but she could've sworn she felt him reciprocating it.

At long last, after an extremely bloody battle and enough hallucinations to fuel a series of fantasy best-sellers, Ms. Gates and her helper - her being worse off than him - seemed to rediscover their use of language and ability to sideline their frightening, maddening thoughts in the name of rationality. They closed their eyes, wiped their faces as clean as they could of the evil liquid, and left the cave. The plants remained dead, and fighting against their exhaustion for sweet, calming oxygen, both of them speculated pleasantly about the interesting article she would write. The audience calmed, and the toad's advice was vindicated.

Still, a horror film would never be satisfying without some kind of awful twist to conclude, and sure enough, some fold in the man's hat had held another deposit of the water, or maybe the effects had simply not worn off on him yet. His eyes were glowing hateful gold, and his horrified scowl from before crawled right back onto his face. He lunged for the unsuspecting woman once more, but the audience would never know the full conclusion: the credits began to roll. An eerie yet bouncy and energetic rock song played; its lyrics didn't relate much at all to the film, but it served its purpose of getting everyone up out of their seats and providing a strange kind of retroactive comic relief.

"Aaaaaaanh!" Maxwell stretched and yawned, completely nonchalant about the movie and his own reactions to it. "That was lame. What do you guys want to do now?"

"Max," Jewel smiled - about the closest he'd ever come to chiding his buddy - "I think you were scared."

"Scared?" he scoffed. "You bet your charcoal-stain spots I was scared - of falling asleep! Man, I knew we should've gotten caffeinated sodas or something." Although he was fully intent on denying, his hand never once angled up to scratch the sensitive healing areas, so at the very least, there had been some success in the outing.

"Chaos on a cracker," a teenager cackled to his friends behind the adventurers as they strode confidently out into the afternoon, "Lindsey's still an absolute _babe_. I've never seen another mortal being, human or Mobian, with a figure like that at her age. I guess it's 'cause of her untarnished body - but imagine if she'd had a _kid_."

The remainder of the afternoon was relaxing and uneventful: they explored a number of local establishments without buying much of anything - besides some ointment to spread a bit of under Maxwell's cast - and even held a game of pickup frisbee in a local park with a few other Mobians who had brought one. Nothing terribly exciting happened, but that wasn't the point of the day anyway, and even though he wouldn't be able to take the cast off for a while, Maxwell seemed to be getting more comfortable with making little to no use of his right arm. Journeying on foot and by motor vehicle wasn't an activity that demanded a great deal of flying, anyway.

They did, however, happen upon a music shop, where Paint proudly laid a large portion of her remaining savings on the counter to make a purchase she had been meaning to for some time. She wasn't intent on letting the nice stringed instrument get hurt, nor its bow, but it luckily came in a nice case to maximize efficiency and protection.

That evening, they placed it in the truck for safekeeping and returned in good spirits to their hotel, ready for a departure for the next leg of their journey the next morning. Stepping in the door, however, Arrowhead's eye poked upon a sign. He could be heard gaping at it, sheepish that he had not noticed it in their travel stupor the previous night, and at the same time audibly excited: _Pool and __Hot Tub, Room 125_.

"Oh, that looks fun! Can we go now?" Jewel cried, straining to patiently wait for their approval.

"Absolutely!" Paint shouted excitedly. "You're as much of a natural mer-animal as we are, so you don't have to ask us. Let's do it!"

They bounded down the hall, where the strange blue glow of the water awaited them. When they opened the door, the floor was visibly covered with a thin layer of wetness, and so they were sure to be careful about not slipping and falling before they jumped in.

Paint made an eager jump right in, and after a clatter at hitting the surface, she looked in wonder at the weird but serene surroundings of the pool. As a native of such a secluded landlocked village, the only times she had ever been fully immersed in water were when exploring nearby creeks, and falling once into a well the village operated, whereafter she needed to be rescued. Morris had probably bathed her as a young girl before she became too much to handle and began living on her own as the outcast she was, but that was it. None of these environments had been lined so deliberately with perfectly square tiles. None of their water had been so wonderfully blue and refulgent, like an innocuous version of that from the movie. None of these water bodies had been so big - the pool was at least two meters deep and twenty long. Every hair on her body was swung to and fro by the manufactured current; it was both otherworldly and right at home.

Arrowhead curiously explored the basin, and his movements were much more natural and fluid than hers. Of course - it hit her - he already really knew how to swim, like humans could. She was taken back for a short time to one of the few trips she had made out with the toad and his father to a brook nearby the village: he had learned to swim in it, and had tried - with existent but small success - to teach her. Perhaps his pure amphibian genes had given him an unfair leg up, but at any rate, his motions were far superior to her mediocre dogpaddling, and so she felt just that bit safer.

It was a strange feeling, but her usual attachment to the boy felt just a bit stronger that night. She felt almost as though it had been planned somehow - was encoded in her very DNA, even - that she would be with him. With their feet a comfortable distance above the pool's bottom surface, she felt more grounded than ever. Water did strange things.

But alas, they were not the only two there. Jewel appeared to be somewhere between Paint and Arrowhead in skill, while Maxwell...

Paint was hit with sadness as she remembered he would not be able to join them. Her silly, aimless exploration and romantic reveries put to an immediate end, she swam the few feet back up to the surface and found him, sitting idly on a bench next to a stack of towels, his cast a ball and chain to the world of languishing boredom. He wasn't showing it, but he rarely did anyway: perhaps he was sad and needed companionship.

"I'm sorry, Max!" she cried. "I didn't even think about you. Want us to get out and we can do something else?"

He waved her concerns away. "Nah, it's fine. Surprised you guys don't want the hot tub, though, seeing as you're so cold-hearted."

He chuckled at the literal idea of it, but she was intent on taking his concerns seriously. "You're pretty observant," she told him, "we're like brain-freezing soda ice-cubes in here! Arrow, Jewel, let's get out and be with Max, 'cause he's melting my heart!" She tread water to their forms and gave them gentle kicks to make sure she had their attention, then pointed over to the steaming, comfortable-looking alternative to their current pool.

"Pushovers," he scoffed as his three best friends lovingly accompanied him to the spa, but he got in right beside them, and he looked very comfortable there. His plaster wing covering was safely out of reach of getting water-damaged, assuming minimal splashing, and just to make sure, their entries were all careful and slow. Once in together, however, everyone sighed wonderfully. If humans had invented hot tubs like they had most other technology thought of as "modern", they sure knew how to live.

The bubbly murk sizzled all around them, like they were being cooked in a cauldron to perfection to feed a hungry giant. Defying his clade, Arrow made no attempt to hop out of the wonderful warmth, and Maxwell proved that insects can respond great to being wet in the right environment.

Paint, however, could not keep without conversing for long. "So, guys in the room who aren't Jewel - how'd it all go down last night?"

Maxwell and Arrowhead looked each other tired in the eyes, some kind of nerve struck, and said nothing for the moment. Jewel was as confused and disturbed by the strange quiet as she was, but Maxwell spoke up as though simultaneously setting the world down from both shoulders. "I used to want more out of him than just being friends; he doesn't feel that way about other guys; we worked it all out; it's all cool. Right? Right." Fast, complete, and direct, like a gunshot at point-blank. Arrowhead quickly nodded, and it was clear to all parties that the topic was over.

"Alright..." She would have to be more conservative with conversation stems now, and practicality seemed a wise choice. "So... we leaving tomorrow morning? Metropolitan life is really something else, I guess, but it won't be 'else' for long if we get all sedentary on it."

"That sounds fine with me," said Arrowhead. "The truck's still where we left it, and we'll get to see Star again." Paint's ears fell as she remembered the poor, sleeping robot for the first time in embarrassingly many hours of the day. She remained upset that bringing it out to see the city wasn't a safe option in an era as prejudiced as this one, but at least they would be able to give it their company once more.

"What's our next destination?" Jewel asked. "'Electronic City' or something like that?"

"Just 'Electric', I think," she answered. "We'll get there quickly and safely, _insha-_Baaritch."

It sounded like a plan, so they let themselves soak in the steaming soup for ten more minutes, obeying the guidelines placed on a convenient sign on the wall, and then they all showered under a few helpful nearby nozzles, toweled off, and returned quietly to their room. It was nice not to have to deal with cleaning swimsuits, as humans did, but the two furrier ones of the four faced a hardy task of removing all the water from themselves. Wet hyena and wet fox were not widely known as good smells.

Leaving early would be best, so after a pleasant, relaxing hour of cartoons on television, they turned it off and sank into the soft waves of their mattresses once more.

"Night, guys!" Paint called out.

"Night," she heard in proper bedtime voices from three directions. Satisfied with the adventurous day behind them and the further adventures before them, she huddled up against her familiar slimy bunkmate, as comforted as she'd been that night with Cayne but with extra confidence for the future to spare, and drifted right off to sleep.

_Ccrrraaaaaaaaaaasshhhh!_

She jolted up, panicking from the continuing cacaphony. Was she dreaming? No, her thoughts were far too coherent and real, and she was not the only one sharing them. Jewel, Arrowhead, and Maxwell were all standing upright, panicking at whatever they - and not yet she - were cognizant of. Arrowhead ran right up to her and yanked her out of bed; she was not mad at him, but her bottom hit the carpeted floor with a painful thud and he dragged her into a standing position with maddening force as she yawned the sleep away.

"Wh-what..." she yawned at him, seeking some kind of explanation.

"_Let's go!_" he screamed. "_We have to get OUT of here!_" Maxwell had his itching cream in hand, but they didn't seem to have any other belongings in the room, nor much time to retrieve them, apparently. They ran out into the contextually blinding light of the hotel hallway like nobody's business, and in moments like these, the group's survival was nobody's business but their own.


	76. Chapter 76

**Author's note: MAN, has it ever been a while! I'm sorry for keeping you loyal readers all strung out; my only explanation is that my laptop was out of commission for a long time at the end of the school year and continuing into my break, and I've also got a full-time job this summer. Thank you for staying with me and even leaving a couple of reviews deep into my absence; know that I DO read them all and listen to your concerns. Without further delays, though, it's time to return to the not-so-pleasant aftermath of Paint and co.'s pleasant day out on the town!**

They got a few easy steps out of the room, letting their door close absentmindedly behind them. After this brief intermission, however, the crashing made its way to them. The building was vibrating now, and when Paint had almost completed a successful pace out of there with her left foot, the hallway lurched furiously. They all screamed, but no proper course of action involved staying there. They had to get out immediately.

Many of the doors were open, with their inhabitants shooting out of their rooms as fast as they could organize themselves and, when applicable, their families. They almost tripped over the numerous children of a shrew couple tumbling out into the hall, their parents scooping them up with both arms and running alongside the four. Some doors were closed, however, and there was no way of knowing whether a room was simply unoccupied – unlikely, she thought, as this had been a luxurious place – the people staying there had already jolted out for dear life, or they were still inside, asleep or gathering their most vital belongings.

It was heart-wrenching, and would have been several times as much so if not for the panicked, urgent situation, that some people might not even know the building they had found so beautiful, had shelled out their own money for a stay at, had expected at the very minimum to keep them only _safe_, was collapsing around them. She could only take bitter solace, for one, in hoping that the noises would get loud enough for wakings-up before the ceilings and structural beams could take the dive first.

And for two, in case the lightning might indeed strike before the thunder rolled in, they nodded to each other to take action. Consensus was made in a split second.

"_HEY, WAKE UP! GET OUT OF HERE!_" they yelled, verbatim or to whose effect, over and over to their lungs' breaking capacity as they rapped as hard as they could on every unopened door. They were at a sprint to the door, where someone else had helpfully thrust some type of ornamental desk in front to make everyone's journey out easier.

The stairs were a madhouse, and thoughts could barely be heard over the screaming. In some places, people were practically using one another as steps as they attempted to take the structural stairs multiple at a time in the mad dash to the bottom. Jewel kept himself tight to Maxwell's back. His protective position almost above the insect as they ran down suggested that keeping his healing body parts safe was also an intention beyond only not losing him. Still, Arrowhead, whose globe-like eyes whirled around frantically to perform repeated, necessary head counts for his three friends and a number of other individuals he was apparently keeping watch over, also crept his fingers into Paint's and Jewel's just to be sure. There were probably safety guidelines about mass evacuations posted somewhere, but for now, rushing en masse to the bottom while keeping as much watch as one could on one's close ones was about the most working system anyone had time to think of.

Paint cursed herself for having gone with a room so many stories up, but took some heart in the perception that they could afford a longer trip down better than some of the frailer and less easily galvanized individuals in the hotel. Eventually, they finally did appear to reach the bottom, and popping safely out through the front doors, which in truth had long been knocked down by earlier escapees, they came to see just how awful the destruction really was.

The sky was only barely breaking upon morning, with some faint natural blue off to one cardinal direction, but there was plenty of _un_natural light.

Fire was everywhere; their building, as sickening as the thought was, had been one of the lucky ones. The mobbing of the streets during the day, moreover, had been nothing compared to what greeted them now. The very ground was shaking horrifically, and their beautiful hotel hadn't much longer to stay up with any kind of integrity.

It was an awful feeling for two reasons: the obvious fact of the immense destruction being caused, and the fact that it felt just a little bit familiar.

"Is this area prone to earthquakes?!" a nearby woman shrieked to them helplessly.

"I don't know!" Jewel shouted as a shock wave resounded and he grabbed her protectively. "W-we're not from around here!"

"Me neither! I- I was only stopping in this city to visit m-" And with that, she turned cold and white as her eyes pierced forward. And then the four of them saw it.

Dr. Eggman's Gargantu-Bot, as domineering and powerful as ever, towered over the helpless citizens, making stomps on the ground that felt deliberate in their magnitude, as if to shake things up as much as possible. The adventurers' hearts could only thud so dramatically, because most of their energy at the moment they saw it was occupied just by audibly groaning to see the dreadful thing once more.

Sure enough, the Doctor himself was visible from his normal seated position in its head. He chortled merrily as he looked upon the destruction he was enacting - for a while. It was quite a lot of jollity, however, for the strange and seemingly goalless nature of his attack upon the metropolis.

"We're all gonna die!" shrieked a man nearby.

"But... we're not," Arrowhead murmured. "Why isn't he bothering to kill us?" Indeed, the mech made no attempts to step on citizens as they darted away from the path of its quaking footsteps. Instead, it was content to stomp and grab the sides of the occasional high-rise to shake it. Could mischief be its own goal for such a notorious self-instated dictator?

Somehow, even Paint couldn't believe in something as innocent as that - especially with what was at this very moment making its huge, looming presence known in the sky.

Still far above the roofs of the tallest buildings, but descending every second, was an airship that absolutely dwarfed the Gargantu-Bot. It was red all over from both its original colored coat and the rust that, while eating away at its impressive aesthetics, did nothing to render it less powerful. And to make no mistake, it was very much the Doctor's; a yellow, stylized version of his face was emblazoned on the airship's massive flank, the logo easily a hundred feet tall by itself. The ship must have been a mile long, and if its engines were to have sputtered out and failed, it would have crushed a large section of the downtown area.

For now, Dr. Eggman graciously activated a microphone to speak up for himself. He coughed and tapped it, which sent out a shrill ringing sound over the crowd.

"Hello, Yakhtanmantannji-ites! ...Boy, that's a mouthful. I'm Dr. Eggman, and as you may have gathered, I am quite a generous man! I have given you all the most magnificent stage show most of you have ever seen, right in your own proverbial backyard, and for an unbeatable price: absolutely free! It was such a deal, my Gargantu-Bot and I had to make sure you were coming to see by any means necessary!

"But that's not all, oh no! A small percentage of you will be continuing on with me to the next act of the show - how exciting is that?"

Eggman was thereafter interrupted by Decoe, whose voice was audible from the same microphone. "But Doctor, how are they going to continue watching shows if we're kid-"

"Thespianism is flexible, Decoe," Eggman butted back in, "there's a reason it's survived over the millennia in such divergent settings! Anyway," he growled back at his audience, "time to go."

The volume of the audience's chaotic screams rose at the announcement, which was for the time being still manageable to the ears, but the cacaphony became almost deafening when the giant airship's bottom revealed a trapdoor - probably a city block in diameter, perfect for shipping a great number of people. Down at street level, everyone began a mad dash for the nearest route of exit they could, but these overlapped so often and so inconveniently, it seemed like no one was getting anywhere. It was like a frenzied dance at a stadium-packed concert, with the specter of the town's impending doom as the opening act.

And right there in the middle of it all were Paint, Arrowhead, Jewel, and Maxwell, with zero ideas to save their hides from the Doctor's clutches.

"It's okay," Arrowhead assured them as best he could, hyperventilating under the weight of his own words. "He won't need us. We'll be able to escape. We're just five insignificant kids."

Five. "...Star," she exhaled as she remembered.

"Paint," he whined, "do we really have time?" It wasn't so much of a command to her to stay on track as it was a desperate plea for her to be reasonable, which told her all that she needed to know: they did, just not much of it. She bolted for the parking lot, sweeping aside everyone in the crowd who stood between her and her favorite robot in the world. Whacking her foot on someone else's, she skidded across the pavement, scraping her knees and drawing blood - probably; she wasn't thinking about that right then.

She also wasn't considering whether her three animal friends were keeping with her, and if they weren't going to support her in this frenzied rescue mission, she wouldn't need to. Sure enough, though, her telepathy was answered. "Paint!" Arrowhead called out, not far behind her.

"Uh..." - she brushed a few more people aside as she continued sprinting - "what?"

"Ow!" He was having a tough time anywhere near keeping up, as exemplified by him slamming straight into another idle evacuatee, but his message was that important. "Don't attract attention!" He panted. "Camouflage!"

Compromise was the only solution; she kept her head low and continued to run at top speed. _I don't care if I'm a lightning rod for attack now because he notices I'm intent on rescuing someone_, she seethed inside. _He'll be right_.

The parking lot was a home stretch of additional treachery, since everyone who owned a car there was bolting for it to save their own skin. Vehicles backed out of spaces and sped ahead like mad, with collision noises puncturing the air ten times as regularly as the Gargantu-Bot's monstrous footsteps. There simply wouldn't be the room for something as massive and poor at starting as their personal stallion to make its way through the commotion, so they'd have to go on foot.

A sedan hurtled right at her as she darted across an aisle, so she leapt, pulling her feet up, and cleared it. She was long past winded and the parking lot air was rich with domestic pollutants anyway, but she was so close and could only run faster. As she neared the truck, she could almost taste the mechanical yet swift motions of unlocking the trunk and freeing her buddy from its confines, when she recalled a horrible detail.

"_ARROW!_" she yelled back, glimpsing him - along with Maxwell and Jewel - not far behind her a split second after the helpless call. "WHERE ARE THE KEYS?!"

His face took on the likeness of a balmy beach as it lost nearly all its color. "Back in the room..." he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief at his own incompetence.

She couldn't judge him, and he knew it, but thinking of another plan, even as primed to do so as their brains now were, required time and calm they just might not have had. _Think, fox, think_, she almost growled to herself out loud. _Think... or... don't think!_ When brains fail, brawn can take its place, but one ledge remained. Beyond its horizon, a quick mental map of the cabin called to mind that there was another key inside the glove compartment.

"Arrow..." she panted once more as she stood before the truck's engine, as a poor orphan girl who just needed her angel to come through for her this one time. "I need a boost." He wanted to stay her friend, right?

She had barely squeezed the words out when he lifted her almost the entire way, allowing her to scramble up. It was brawn's time to shine, so she pounded at the windshield with her right fist, rearing it back in as short of intervals as she could possibly pummel it. The vehicle's age was on her side, and eventually it cracked and then shattered. Red streaks rolled down from her palm and matted into her fur, signing the name of luck incarnate in the language of friendship.

Paint rolled through the opening and the glass landed a few jabs elsewhere in her body, but nothing was impacted vitally enough to deny her the energy to pull through, rip the spare key from its resting place, sprint around to the back, and swing the door open, all in the span of a few seconds.

She jumped right up and gave Star a huge bear hug, crying her love onto its hull and hearing its squeals of joy until she forced herself away for its own good. "We need to get out of here, Star!" she shot.

It knew nothing about the situation, but it did have concern on the smaller scale. The robot whined as it mimed attacking each of its arms with the other, stopping just short of collision with each swing. Taking a good look at her own body, she found that she was quite cut up and still bleeding, but that would have to wait. "I know I'm hurt," she cried out, "but we can deal with that later. Let's go!"

Finally joined as one again, the pack sprinted through the parking lot just like before. They neared the edge, where they'd be in for a run across a small park before disappearing into the city streets. Suddenly, though, a noise crackled through the air - noise_s_. Besides the ongoing clatter of colossal robot feet, a flurry of smaller noises rang out as well, kind of like waterfalls or other monstrously powerful jets of some kind. These noises were too joined by additional screams from the helpless Yakhtanmantannji public, so they couldn't be good noises.

The sky and the airspace below the giant aircraft was speckled with smaller robots - perhaps the size of Star, but proportioned more like humans or Mobians without tails - and the jets with which they descended to wreak rapture upon the city were the ones everyone heard.

"If you nerds've been holding onto any great ideas," Maxwell spat, trembling, "now's the time to share 'em with the whole class!"

"I think, uh, continuing to run would be a great idea!" Jewel piped in, and that was just what they did.

But as these robot backups throttled down from the mothership to the ground, this became a less and less certain course of action. They made their presence immediately known where they landed in the crowds by causing waves of screaming people to billow out from around them like ripples in a placid lake after the toss of a stone.

But these people wouldn't all get very far.

A woman let out a shrill scream not far from the group, which quickly quieted down in a way that did not suggest her becoming calm. To their horror, one of the robots had trapped her - a raccoon of middle age - in some kind of thick metal coil, which extended from its arm and hung down like a lasso as the robot lifted her into the sky. All around, the same thing was happening too many times to react to, beyond gasping in dread as the city's population was eaten away by the hundreds.

They shook their gapes off and lurched into an attempt at running again, but it was too late. A robot thumped down only about ten meters in front of them. Before the adventurers could gather their thoughts enough to make any kind of attempt at running, it shot a cable out, which neatly wrapped around all of them, grasping them by the waists. "NO!" they cried as the split second sealed their fates.

The robot casually jumped into the air... and sputtered, unable to get very far off the ground. Star whirred with delight at the sudden use its weight granted them. "Love ya, Star," Paint cheered, "every pound of you!" She was still immobile, but kissed it on its arm.

Good things rarely last. Two more robots swooped down to help out, shooting additional cables around the helpless group. The team of metallic kidnappers jumped into the air together, and they succeeded, such was the strength of propulsion against gravity. They flew up and up to the mothership's gaping jaws, the crowd getting smaller and smaller and the skyscrapers' heights more and more appreciable.

"Oh... oh no," Jewel trembled out loud.

"Remember," Arrowhead told him, only barely keeping his composure, "they're not going to kill us. They would've just done that from the beginning if they were... I think," concluding with a pitiful whisper. With his chest pressed against hers by the tension in the cable, she could feel the racing of his heart jumping to uncomfortable levels.

They rose higher and higher on their journey to judgment, whereupon they were brought through the mothership's trapdoor, along with their thousands of fellow prisoners, who were forming a crowd in the single vast room of the ship's dark underbelly. These angels of a fate more wretched than death held Mobians, humans, and even Chao - one robot held only a Chao, who fluttered its wings as was the only means of escape it knew. The robots pulled them over a high guardrail to an empty spot in the room and dropping them by immediately unlocking the cable's clip. The five of them fell a few feet, all tumbling to a stop. Star very nearly crushed them, but pushed itself from the floor before it could.

The city's bright lights, still visible through the trapdoor through which more prisoners were being carried - many of them kicking and screaming, all of them equally doomed - were the only reminder of the external world, along with the dull ambiance of the city's collective screams. The kidnappings soon leveled off, though, and with a few last robots flying up and depositing their cargoes before exiting the ship once more to enter the chamber from which they came, the trapdoor closed, leaving them finally captured.

This was it; it was too late even for the last resort of a leap over the guard rail to a nobler death. Dr. Eggman had them, and that was that.


	77. Chapter 77

**Author's note: I never thought it'd happen so soon - same-sex marriage has been legalized in all fifty U.S. states! I've been motivated to finish this today by the great news - in Maxwell's honor, here's the newest chapter.**

The feeling of being captured with an awful fate ahead of oneself is difficult to get used to anyway, but it hardly helps with the adaptation process when the helmsman of one's most recent abduction is the most powerful terrorist figure known to one's entire planet.

At the same time, the adventurers, unlike most of their unwilling cabin-mates, had been captured before, and surely experience counts for something. _You'll be fine_, Paint told herself as she strained to keep her heartbeat within safe levels.

People stormed the area, shouting above one another until no one could hope to be heard above the din. It was chaos all around, and yet the commotion could barely be seen: Eggman had dimmed all the lights to the pitchest of blacks, and so the only pitiful sources of illumination came from electronics - cellphones, smartphones, handheld video game consoles, and such - and lighters. Hopefully with this much frantic breathing in the air and this little communal space, no one would have the audacity to smoke.

And right in the middle of the chaos, a small child, a roly-poly about six or seven years old, was curled perfectly up in a ball. He was helplessly rocking back and forth, but tears could still be seen streaking out from the underside of his head. Refusing to think twice, Maxwell left his own tribe and strode up to the boy, squatting down in front of him and giving his back a rough prod with one finger.

The child unraveled himself and stared up at the older boy; his terrified face became just a little more calm when he saw that he was being addressed by a fellow insect.

"There, that's the toughest, meanest thing you should be dealing with. Where are your parents, kid?" Maxwell asked.

The younger boy squirmed for a few seconds as if ready to roll back up rather than answer such a direct challenge, but his jaws then eased open to answer. "I-I dunno!" he squeaked. "Dey tried to gryab me when I gat adducted, but dey couldn't hold an!"

Maxwell looked at his friends, unsure of how to proceed, but the boy had more for him. "And... dey gat cyaptured too, along wit' my big sister Esmeralda, way below me w-while I was getting picked up! But... but dat was the lyast I sah of them."

Arrowhead, who had been looking rather uncomfortable during the child's speech, finally broke loose: "Uh... are you from around here?" He gritted his teeth immediately after articulating his last word, both reproachful of himself for being rude, and genuinely curious all the same.

"No!" the boy shouted gleefully. "We're from Electric City. We were just coming here on a vacation. Uh... why do ya ee-ask?"

"Because we all appreciate... uh, the lingering presence of dialectal diversity!" Paint chirped. "He was just curious; don't worry!"

She hadn't meant anything mean by the explanation - in fact, quite the opposite - but he frowned and looked forlornly up at her. "You mean... you guys don't like da way I tahk?"

"Those two can be weird sometimes," Jewel soothed to him, with a voice both soft and effective in shushing his friends up. "I know they both still like you."

Paint sighed with relief, hoping to direct some warm energy of thankfulness at Jewel. Encouraged, she continued to elaborate to the boy: "We're tourists, too! We're every bit as helpless and confused in this place as you are, but maybe we can help you find your folks. I like to think we've got... some experience in that area."

He smiled and stood proudly up on his feet. "Let's go!" His newfound confidence lasted only as long as his eyes stayed directed at his new, cool, older friends, though - when they drifted off to the group's surroundings, he was discouraged once more. "But it's gonna take forever to find 'em here. Aw..." - his cheeks puffed petulantly up - "I hate our nyatural camouflage."

"Just so happens I've got the opposite of camouflage," grunted Maxwell, as he flicked his tail to life and the boy's face lit up in a cocktail of literal and metaphorical. "I'm Maxwell, by the way. And if you're not lookin' for a rocket punch to the stomach, you'll call me 'Max' - nah, just kidding. Call me 'Susan' if it'll perk you up." The boy grinned widely, for the time being choosing contented silence as the firefly's new name.

Paint was, above all else, surprised and proud of Max, but did hold one reservation: she wished he could bring the boy "above all else" for optimal family-searching techniques through the forest of terrified but visually obstructive people - especially since the nearly nonexistent light to guide them now made for a much greater challenge than they had faced searching out Arrowhead's father so long ago.

Still, the boy didn't seem to mind; he only sadly commented outright, "Oh, Max... you're hurt." He reached up and gave the area just outside the reach of Maxwell's cast a brief, tender rub.

"Yeah," he laughed, "no thanks to this little punk." Maxwell grabbed Paint by her waist to his side and added, "And she's the whole reason we're on this mangled journey. But it's okay," he made sure to note, "we still love her fuzzy, pointy butt." She waved sheepishly to him, and he nodded warmly.

"Uh, I usually hold onto the important information," Arrowhead said, "so I think I'll be needing your name."

"Oliver!" the boy beamed, before shrinking away at remembering something. "Or, uh, was I nat supposed to give that away? Are you guys strangers?"

"Well, it'll help us locate your family, Oliver!" Paint reassured him, bending down to eye level to make sure he could see for himself that she wasn't a threat. "Unless you _want_ us to call out to these people that we've located 'Currently-Anonymous-Timid-and-Non-Bioluminescent-but-Adorable-Insect-with-a-Perfectly-Understandable-and-Legitimate-Idiolect the Pillbug'!"

Oliver looked down as if to hide his face while laughing rather loudly, then returned to meet Paint's eyes. "Okay, but now you have to tell me _your_ name!" he challenged.

"Fair enough. I'm Paint the Seedrian-Fox - and you know Maxwell here, but these are Arrowhead the Toad, Jewel the Hyena, and Star!" she announced as she pointed each one out.

"'Paint'? Dat's a funny name... and does it have anything to do with all o' this paint _on_ you?" He used one finger to outline her cuts, which seemed to be healing and clotting quite well but were nevertheless inconspicuously red.

"Uh... no," she giggled nervously. "I guess it's because the guy who first found me knew from the start I'd be the type to get all over everything, whether you want her to or not, and be bubbly and uneven when you don't need her to be..."

"And I'm... kinda da color of olives!" Oliver added.

"Yeah, but olives don't glow in the dark," Maxwell said. "We gotta go look for ol' mama and papa Oliver now, lest they rip their heads off looking for you." He was impatient, but smiled again at the boy when he saw a possible emotional consequence of his bluntness. "But if you're not feeling like walking, and you want to see what it's like to be up high... Star?" The robot understood right away, and it extended one helpful arm out for each insect to grab onto and climb up so they could sit comfortably on its shoulders, each reaching one arm around its head for optimum balance, although someone like Star would not dream of letting them fall.

Maxwell steadied himself and ignited his tail to full brightness - Paint wondered sometimes if that exhausted him, but whether it did or it didn't, he could be more than willing to drain his bodily energy dry at times like this. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready!" the others agreed, and they set off, marching valiantly through the crowd.

Numerous curious heads turned at the ostensibly dangerous robot tromping along on its merry way with two obviously content animals riding on its shoulders, but aside from a few jeers there was little discontent from the captured public - Star's force protected them, and their visually obvious safety protected it. No biology text in the world could have predicted such a textbook symbotic relationship involving an inorganic being.

"WILL THE PARENTS AND SISTER OF OLIVER THE PILLBUG PLEASE PICK HIM UP?" Arrowhead called, motioning for his friends to join in.

"NO REFUNDS! ALL SALES ARE FINAL!" - from Maxwell.

"IN GOOD CONDITION! HAPPINESS BATTERY RE-CHARGED!" - from Paint.

"Please come quick, because I don't want my firefly friend here to tire himself out!" - from Jewel.

A loud, enthusiastic whir whose frequency and amplitude galloped up and down for maximum noticeability - from Star.

Altering their pleas for attention to keep themselves motivated and their task a work in progress, they trudged on through the mass of people. The task was rendered quite frustrating, though, by their inability to see more than perhaps a few dozen meters in front of them. Their journey to recover Oliver's family mimicked their journey to recover Tails: they had no idea how long they had left to go, and the distance seemed only to hopelessly grow.

Their motivation was further dampened by what Maxwell's rather weak light, even if it was running at full blast, revealed. Although seeing a robot calmly accompanied by a few animals was enough to tear some of their fellow captives out of their funks, the majority of the populace was in great distress. Even the family members who were hopelessly attempting to console one another that perhaps Dr. Eggman would find a deposit of mercy within his cold, cruel heart were the lucky ones, for they were still together.

Off to their left, an elderly weasel was announcing to those nearby that this was the literal rapture predicted in ancient indigenous Mobian religious texts that few believed to the letter anymore, a fitting heavenly punishment for their unnecessary modern extravagances and debauchery. Perhaps he was only intending to bring some logic into the situation, but the people he reached were, at best, uninterested in his dour proclamations and, at worst, even more terrified than being lifted up and imprisoned by the most malevolent dictator in the world had left them.

As the minutes crawled by - it might have been an hour, although the bizarre atmosphere made time difficult to assess - their voices grew hoarser and Oliver moaned in defeat, trying to sink his head into Star's like a pillow. Suddenly, in the middle of another attempt from Jewel at being loud and direct, they were interrupted by a blue jay running up to them, right in Star's path. As he showed no fear of being run over or attacked by the great metal beast, perhaps the campaign had worked.

"A-ah, excuse me, is this Oliver the Pillbug you've got?" he frantically sputtered.

"Yup! Yup! Dat's me!" cheeped the boy. His eyes darted around the man and quickly found their target - not far behind him, two bigger insects of his same species, plus one slightly smaller one, were jogging up to their newest lead, their faces glowing with delight when they saw their boy.

The smallest of the trio was also apparently the fittest - Esmeralda sprinted up to see her little brother, leaving their parents trailing behind, and he hopped off from Star's shoulder right into her arms. She could hold him up with one arm, though, and the other gave his head a playful rub. "DAT's for runnin' away from us so you could get a closer look at those 'cool' robats that did nothing but separate us and pryactically give Mom and Dad heart attacks!"

Oliver did the same to her, and she only giggled with glee rather than resist. "DAT's for also ignoring the robats just so you could look at cute teenage boys - who just hyappened to be near Mom and Dad!"

"I totally did nat!" she protested, but their little argument was easily forgotten in the celebration, with Oliver being passed around like an adored new pet.

The family was occupied just fine by themselves, to the point that some cynical observers might have seen them as ungrateful, but Jewel cleared his throat to be especially courteous. "Um... I'm sorry it took so long to find your son - and y-your little brother. I'm sure we could have been louder, but-"

Esmeralda detached herself in an instant, slid coolly over to Jewel, and shushed him with her palm gently covering his mouth. "No," she corrected with an intrigued smile, "_you_ were just fine."

"Dad? Mam? Can we stick wit' dese guys?" Oliver pleaded in his mother's arms between two of his mother's overpowering kisses. She gave him a suspicious look, but let him go; Esmeralda gave him a subtle thumbs-up as the two parties temporarily became one.

"She's completely under Jewel's spell," Maxwell whispered to his other friends, "and there's nothing he can do about it."

Now that their bearings were had, the time seemed right for some sort of upheaval, and it came in the crackling on of a giant, powerful speaker whose feedback radiated disgustingly throughout the giant chamber. Paint's throat went dry, and she heard gulps and active cries of fear from all around, as everyone realized just who this was and what type of news they were likely to receive.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the lovely cities and towns of Techokko Province, most recently Yakhtanmantannji!" he shouted with gleeful triumph likely scaring even his own robot companions. "This is your pilot speaking, Dr. Eggman, and I'm here to announce that you are all completely under my spell, and there is nothing you can do about it!"


	78. Chapter 78

**Author's note: For clarification, on Earth, the pillbugs would be classified as having a Chicago accent, most of whose traits are grouped in linguistic terms as the "Northern Cities Vowel Shift". It's a speech pattern I've never seen represented in writing before, and I'm feeling a bit of pride toward my city lately, so I thought I'd try it for these characters.**

_"Most recently"? So..._ The rasped, maniacal phrase echoed in Paint's head and she shivered as she truly saw the magnitude of the Doctor's deed. Far from limited to the single city, he had been capturing people from all over, presumably just as hurriedly and haphazardly at each stop. But... why?

"Do not worry about your experimental purpose for now," he cackled. "I am a magician, but I am a gracious one! You shall all remain alive for the foreseeable future - as long as you do not cause any unneeded complications! You have behaved quite well so far, so if you can keep this magnificent behavior up, it will be smooth sailing all the way to port!

"I am many things, however, and one of them is busy. I cannot attend to your entertainment on this beautiful morning, mwohoho, so I _suggest_ that you be sociable and mingle! You come from all over the province, from the tiny hamlet of 'Little Apple' - whose humble citizenry should be honored to be getting out a little, if you don't mind my editorializing - to the metropolis of our most recent destination! You will surely have lots to talk about, so why not calm yourselves down with a little friendly mixed conversation?

"I shall be sending my robots out in a short while to see if you are all keeping on alright. Have fun, Mobians and other assorted specimens! Toodle-oo!

"...Oh, and a new day is dawning, in this case meant literally. I apologize that I can't allow any access to 'natural' light, but here's a viable alternative. Goodbye for real, everyone!"

The speaker crackled off once more, quickly making its presence forgotten, and the room's giant light fixtures sparked to life in an exchange of the overload of one sense for another. Adding to the blinding physical shock of seeing everything clearly once more was just _what_ became visible - the chamber truly was gigantic. Even the light fixtures, which appeared impressively small compared to the immense area they lit up, were several meters in diameter. The place's actual furnishings were less than spectacular, however, and even a decorator with wings and infinite pep could have done little for it: the walls were stained with sporadic grime and motor oil, and there appeared to have been some blocky industrial lettering on the walls before time and neglect had peeled it into looking like a sparse new alphabet. Although it was tough to look at, even while squinting, for very long, the ceiling was also visibly cracked in numerous spots, especially near a trapdoor in its center, which was somehow tantalizing in its dirty grimness.

Paint's bodily energy rushed back to life in the light, but her rubbing of her eyes to help them gently adjust was more reminiscent of sleep. "Everyone here have a good snooze?" she yawned to her immediate company.

"I-it was full of nightmares, and the most frightening kind of them," Jewel trembled.

"Aw, what kinda attitude is thyat?" Esmeralda ribbed, squeezing him to her side once more. "Ya managed to rescue" - she grunted and lifted her little brother up once again with her free arm as a demonstration before setting him down - "_this_ guy in one piece! I think you're doin' alright. But if you need a teddy bear just to be safe..." He hid his face and giggled, but he had no exoskeleton for true emotional opacity - his blushing was visible to all.

"If he does, he'll say so," Maxwell frowned, though he made no moves to grab Jewel back.

The girl got the message and loosened her grip, freeing her new friend to leave whenever he wished, but her optimistic attitude toward his friends remained. "So what _are_ we doin'? We can 'socialize' somewhere else if ya want, but we'd ryather stick around 'ere." She grinned widely at them all, a bit impatient for either a quick solution or acknowledgement that her presence was valued.

"Uh... I don't know," Arrowhead admitted, distracted. "...Did he say 'Little Apple'?"

Paint's stomach twisted as she remembered the significance of this name to them. She wanted to believe their old acquaintances from this village would be fine without them, but what if they felt alone and helpless anyway? She burned with a drive to find and comfort them, but finding them seemed a hopelessly difficult task when, unlike in Oliver's case, they had no way to know they were being looked for and thus no reason to keep alert - and when the sheer size of the crowd was only more depressingly evident in the glaring brightness. If anything, finding him in such short order had been a lucky break.

"Yeah," Oliver confirmed, curious about the name. "Do ya know about it? D-do dey grow apples there?"

"Apples... yeah, are one of their distinguished exports... along with artistically talented testudines!" Paint cried, upset by the absence of any easy method of connection. "I mean, we've been there! We have friends there! I mean... here. I... urrrrggggh." She knelt down, squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched her temples in frustration at her impotence - perhaps the sudden brightness was too much after all.

Hit with an immediate, encouraging thought of thoughts, she stood back up and paced back and forth for ideas, the insects confusedly getting out of her way. "Oh... uh, excuse me," she muttered offhand. "Think, think... Trapdoor up top... maybe forty, fifty meters up. Average Mobian... maybe fifty, sixty kilograms. On all fours... a third of a meter tall? Er, pyramids are structurally inefficient when there's a limited supply of blocks compared to, ideally, cones, but for calculation purposes... uh..."

"'Pyramid'?" Jewel quoted. "Of... us? Um... Paint, I don't personally know if that'll w-"

"_What?!_" she snarled at him, stopping in her tracks to glare the dissenter down and reflexively even forming painfully tightly clutched fists. He toppled down with fear - and she immediately saw what she was becoming. Her friends were staring, but she hopped to his side before she could be pushed away by any helper on his behalf. "I'm... I'm sorry, Jewel," she choked, helping him to his feet and giving him a hug instead. "You didn't do anything. I just can't... l-leave them," she wept into his shoulder. "I-it's not fair. They don't know how to deal with... with this like we do. I have to keep trying with ideas... something's bound to... ohhhh..."

"Maybe we can think of something," Arrowhead said softly. At first he stood a safe distance from the smoldering lump that was his best friend, just in case, but he soon thought better and leaned in to hug her back. "We just have to, erm, think calmly. And together," he emphasized. Maxwell staying mum, but scratching his shoulder once more, was all the backing the toad needed.

"Calmly?" Oliver piped up, dismayed at his new friends' lack of enthusiasm for the job. "Nuts to thyat! Let's take da place over! Show dis guy that da good guys always win!"

His parents did not lower themselves to kneel down to their son, but their brows furrowed and their tones were skeptical. Someone had to, so Oliver's father spoke up. "Ah... son, I know dese kids 'ave clearly been trough a lot, and we're glad to 'ave you back in working condition, but Dr. Eggman isn't renowned as a stone-hearted dictator as some kinda symbolic folktale artistic embellishment or nuthin'. I- I wonder if we wouldn't be better off waitin' for... for someone like _Soni_\- uh..."

Another one of the many things the Doctor was appeared to be honest. Sure enough, from the shabby ceiling trapdoor swooped dozens of the robots that had vanished earlier, after their initial deposit of biological cargo. This entrance had not even looked to be in use, since the robots had left by exiting the ship before, but perhaps the element of surprise was the point: the robots quickly spread all over the room to check out the well-being of their massive catch, and no one had any time to look nice or be on guard.

The wait was over. One of these robots was calmly floating down to the adventurers and their favorite new family. Its prey was helpless, so it took its sweet time. Maxwell groaned long and deeply. Star sat down and whimpered. Jewel, without thinking, huddled up with Esmeralda, who leaned only faintly into him as she gulped with fear of their second attack.

But it didn't come - at least, not as they expected. "How are we all doing tonight?" it asked, the equal length of its syllables and flat, lifeless intonation betraying the casual tone of its pre-programmed saying.

Paint opened her eyes up to her teammates, wide and inquisitive, and Arrowhead nodded her in. "Uh... h-hi! We're doing quite well - a-and we've made some new friends! And they've made _us_ as new friends! See? Socializing works wonders for relieving tension when you open yourself up to it, and look!" She flashed a doughy smile, making sure Arrowhead's eyes could catch it, and nudged him to do the same. "No tension at all!"

The robot's eyes, looking like the cold, dead surfaces of unexplorable planets, homed in on her. "It is odd that you say you are in good spirits," it countered, "because you have one of Dr. Eggman's robots with you. And we are... dangerous."

She sprang up, climbed up Star's arms, and locked her legs around its head, forcing her tails into a rapid wag. "Uh... nope! You'd think so, but this one's just... ah... nonviolent! That's quite inopportune for your purposes, I'm afraid, but we love it and it loves us! Weird how that works, ahahah..." She lowered her head the requisite few inches to its head and nuzzled her whiskers into it.

"We are obligated to report any defective members of our own kind, including E-1030 models - and we take them with us for further... inspection."

Paint's face flushed with energy as the significance of this moment screamed through her veins. _This is really, really dangerous... but it could take me to Eggman himself!_ she gasped internally. _And that may be my only chance to find some way to rescue these poor people! And if I don't... ohhh._

"Well... erm, you can't take this one without taking me!" she snapped back to its face. "Because we're inseparable!"

Her older friends and the pillbugs gaped at her brash audacity, but she refused to budge. She didn't like deceiving people, but she _was _known for illogical emotional displays, and this would serve as a fitting disguise of her growing plans on meeting up with Dr. Eggman himself to stop this horrific journey once and for all. Maybe she would be able to convince him from the depths of her heart, maybe she would have to be more tactical, but she had to try.

"That is interesting," the robot responded. "We will be taking you as well as this E-1030, then. Dr. Eggman may want to know about this bond for his current research in robot-animal interaction."

Everything was riding on Paint not reneging on her conviction, and luckily, she wouldn't have time to. In response to some communication mechanism inaudible to fox ears, two more robots flew in from the crowd, and all three of them shot their transport cables around Star, just like before.

"Paint..." Arrowhead croaked from the sidelines. His face displayed ten shades of fear in a tenth of a second, and each one needed to be soothed.

"We'll be fine," she told him as calmly as she possibly could. "But even if we're not... you all are just as capable and strong without me... if not more. I love you."

And with that, she was left unprotected against the edge of fate's sword as the robots rose into the air with her and Star in tow; she could only grab tighter and tighter to her own robot buddy and hope these winged devils knew how not to sway too much.

"I love you, too, Star," she whispered to it. "Never you believe for a second that Paint hasn't got your back."

Star whined back to her, quieter than ever. Its thoughts at the moment were opaque, but she hoped they included her defense of its life against Sunny Clearing's merciless sense of justice. Star's hope would need a boost like this, because this judge of their lives' worth could be much less generous.

She looked down to see the crowd shrinking to toy size, but she swallowed her fear in one determined gulp and wrapped her right arm around Star's eyes to make sure it wouldn't have to look down. The trapdoor lingered above them, and her only sensations before they and their escorts were swallowed up were two: that unlike their abduction into this ship in the first place, it was pitch-black, and they were all alone.


	79. Chapter 79

At once, lights clicked on to bring the party's surroundings into view. The relief from the darkness felt merciful, but what was actually there before them did nothing to raise hopes. Cold, sad, sterile, grey walls formed a labyrinth, farther away than ever in both distance and feeling from the other prisoners below.

"Go on," one of the robots instructed as it set Paint and Star free, but they might as well not have heard it: Paint tumbled from her perch, shivering, and held Star's side so they could walk together, quickly as if escaping these corridors would somehow rid them of this entire dungeon. Their captors were perfectly fine with this hasty attitude and gladly kept up, silently directing them through their quipu of forgettable lefts, rights, and straights.

When they finally did reach the office of the man behind it all, there was no need for it to be pointed out. The door was plain and disappointing; its tracks time-worn into the floor were all that marked it as any more loved than any other feature of the place. If Dr. Eggman was the type of person for willing, amiable guests, this clearly wasn't where he invited them.

Paint did not even look back for approval before trotting a bit ahead of Star, grabbing the handle, taking a deep breath in, and swinging it open. No one protested: Star and the guards quietly shuffled in behind her to see what face of the unpredictable Doctor they might encounter.

The room itself was only modestly better decorated, its notable adornments being a number of Mobian maps and data charts - it was reminiscent of the Schlossers' house, if they practiced a different, more adventurous sort of science.

Dr. Eggman barely noticed them enter, his fingers hammering something important at the older-fashioned mechanical keyboard of the computer at his desktop. The closing of the door behind them, though, notified him that his mysterious visitors were ready for inspection.

When he stood up to get a first look, however, his face sank with mild disappointment. "Hrm. When you notified me of a rogue robot that had allied in its rebellion with an animal, I was expecting something more novel, perhaps a pair more interesting to... dissect. I've met these two before." He sat back down, his mixture of frustration with an apparent desire to make his minions feel their journey had been in any way worthwhile forcing one finger to scratch his furrowed brow as he thought about it. "Bah," he sighed, "I have no use for these two - and they do nothing but remind me of juicier targets of mine, anyway. Return them to the-"

"Wait!" Paint yelped. She couldn't believe his nonchalance, but stronger was her frustration at having so little time with the man.

"I've done plenty of waiting, and for more important causes," he snarled. "I'm waiting right now. You are obstructing my waiting. What else do you want?"

"I want you to set these people free! Erm... please!" she pled, sinking to her knees and staring dolefully into the murky regions of his sunglasses she hoped corresponded to the most empathetic zones of his eyes. "I know you and me have different... ah, ideologies on... the preservation of... life, but I'm sure you'll be happier practicing your... scientific pursuits without having to deal with dumb old animals like me!"

"No. Actually, yes - I would be happier not dealing with you, but my aircraft will remain otherwise fully stocked." He looked up at the guards, himself pleading with them now. "I said, get rid of her. What, do I have to say it in Wisp?"

"You can take me!" she burst out before she could think better of it. "Uh... they said you're a leading scholar in robot-animal interaction, a-and you need more test subjects! Well..." - she stood quickly up, only for a theatrical bow before him - "here's twenty-seven kilograms, including thirteen point five pure animal, of perfect specimen who _loves_ her favorite robot!" She finished off with a stretchy grin, frantic to sweeten him up any way possible.

As if to conclude the plea, Star gave a high, soft whistle, staring straight at the man who had shown it so little kindness, that he might pick up the slack now.

Unimpressed with Paint's display, one of the robot guards quickly shot its cable once more around her, causing her to hack and sputter until the Doctor waved it off. "No, perhaps not." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he decided on a new course of action: "Perhaps we can keep her around a bit longer."

At long last, the Doctor rose from his seat, slowly plodding over to her to elaborate on his designs. "All right, Paint, I think I've got a solution that will work for both of us.

"You remember my standard tracking practice for my E-1030 line, including Star here, correct?"

She gulped. "Yeah."

"And you forcibly disrupted Star's participation, correct?"

"But Star wanted me to! It was only..." He was glaring, so she sighed and acquiesced to reach his desired conclusion: "Yeah, I did."

"A central tenet of the study of robot-animal interaction - no, _the_ central tenet - is the parallelism of experiences between the two classes of... life, shall we say. Naturally, as you so rightly observed when we first met, the effects of my tracking device on Star's emotional well-being were pervasive and significant."

She clenched up and gritted her hidden teeth as she remembered, but did manage to stifle a low growl - instead, she only nodded.

"I am going to try something similar on you."

Her heart nearly stopped - perhaps that was the point. She was too stunned by the sickening plan even to reflexively cower away, fit to react only by sweating profusely in anticipation and running her jaw almost incoherently.

"I- I- I don't understand what I'm gonna have to do for that."

"Ohoho, _you_ won't have to do anything, sweetheart. You will only have to take a brief nap while your stomach is implanted with a device that will measure... ooh, I don't want to forget any of the juicy variables - your heart rate, your metabolism, and the levels of a few of your hormones. This all surrounds the device's primary function, which is, if you are a bad girl, to release a fast-acting poison into your bloodstream that will kill you."

_"If you are a bad girl."_ The ambiguity was maddening with no device yet inside her at all - his plan was working already.

"I must clarify," the Doctor calmly went on, "that in no way does this suggestion of mine serve to satisfy any sadistic desires of my own. No, I simply want to see in greater detail - and with biological variables with which I am much more familiar - how I am _really_ treating my loyal robots when I assemble them with my tracking devices, with the assumption that I may need to reconsider my program accordingly. You could say that... I'm doing this to you because I am such a kind soul, because I... _care_.

"And of course, in exchange, if the surgery goes successfully, I shall set free everyone I have taken with me aboard this vessel, including Star and yourself. The entire purpose of this voyage, I must concede, was to observe animals - plucked straight from their natural habitats - in cohabitation with my robots - but with you under my wing... and your bloodstream under my finger... that will all be redundant."

Demonic visions flashed through her head of her body suddenly becoming weak and sparking out altogether in front of her confused best friends, right on a generic doorstep instinct told her belonged to her father. Their faces were the clearest part of her reverie, however, and caused her to steel herself in defiance of this pathetic apprehension - Arrowhead, Maxwell, Jewel, and Star would be afforded long, happy lives free of this prison, Paint or no Paint by their side.

"Deal!" She could hardly even feel the word leaving her mouth. She willed as much emotion as possible out of herself for the moment, just wanting it to be over. "I'm your pincushion."

"Excellent!" he chortled. "Let me tell you, sweetie, you picked the right choice for yourself and all of your buddies. Guards?" he called out to the bored robots holding Star, who all became eager at the first sign of activity. "Take little Star back down to the rest of its fretful cohorts. The girl is mine now."

Star moaned in defeat, but she winked and gave it a quick thumbs-up. She was beyond convincing herself of her own safety at this point, but the robot needed something to hold onto. Her plastered confidence stifling any vocal hesitation, she commanded to it, "Don't miss me, buddy! I'll be right back."

The Doctor - his name apparently extending to the colloquial, non-academic usage of the word - tapped his foot as he waited for the robots to be entirely out of sight and then hurried Paint out the door, closing it behind him. He walked beside her, keeping his large, clammy hand gently on her back to ensure a quick travel. She didn't bother paying attention to the route's turns or even how long it took - maybe thirty seconds it was, maybe five minutes - only to attempting to enjoy the experience of being alive as much as she could. She sniffed the air ravenously, finding only the scent of some aseptic chemicals, possibly for cleaning. She tasted the cool, dry air and her own sticky saliva. With few vibrant colors on hand, her eyes probed out the refuges of darkness and bright light in the corridors. She felt the hard, smooth floor on the pads of her feet and heard them press up and down on it, along with the clacking of her escort's boots, such was the otherwise silent ambiance. This was life, and life is wonderful.

Another door showed itself, and once again she burst impolitely through it to ease the pressure. Two robots of a different model, built more like Mobians of species coldly ambiguous, were waiting, and Dr. Eggman let go of her to place her in their control. Perhaps his title was metaphoric after all.

There were old-fashioned-looking computer monitors, open and closed drawers and cupboards, bags of clear and faintly-colored fluids, and small, mysterious machines of other sorts, with color-probably-coded cords connecting it all. In the center of the room was a high-perched bed, all of it metal, and with adjustable clamps about the right size for limbs on the sides.

Now disinterested in Paint as an agent capable of conversation, he spoke to the surgeons. "This is it - just like I showed you, be careful around the vital organs. Do not rupture the chemical chamber in advance, but make sure to connect the cables to measure all of her signs. I will be busy, so I cannot assist you on this one, but be careful. I won't be pleased with another screw-up, with another perfectly good body wasted."

With that, he left and the door locked behind him. Paint's surgeons were in less of a hurry, so they gently approached her. "You are a very brave girl," one of them soothed, "and this will be easy. In fact, you will be off in your sweet dreamland the whole time! We will just need to determine the correct dosage of anesthesia for you, because it can be bad if that is not done correctly. Please step onto this scale."

She skitted onto a discreet metal scale in the corner and waited for its reading to flatten out: _29.3... 29.5... 29.6... 29.7... 29.6..._

"29.7 kilograms," noted the same one. "But you are still growing - who knows, we may need to check again if there are any complications! Haha, I am only kidding. Now..." - it called out to its companion, instantly dropping its programmed geniality - "work that out and prepare it while I handle the rest."

"All right, then. What is your name, sweetheart? Or is there something else you would rather go by?"

"Paint," she answered in a small voice.

"Adorable. Paint, are you aware of any heart conditions you have?"

"...No."

"Have you used any recreational drugs in the past 30 days? I am sorry, but we have to ask these days."

"Nope."

"Have you eaten anything or drunk any non-clear liquids in the past twelve hours?"

Her conception of time remained wrecked, but it had to be well into the morning by now. "No."

"Do you have to go to the bathroom? Or are you thirsty?"

"I'm fine."

"Wonderful. Okay, Paint, I am going to have you climb up here. Or do you need a boost? Perfectly acceptable between friends."

"I got it." She wrenched one arm around the side and sprang up, lying on her back and forcing herself not to curl up in terror.

Relieved that the patient was making it so easy, it walked leisurely around her platform and began to gently fasten each of her limbs into place. "Haha, I know this probably feels to you like something from one of those scary movies, but this is standard precaution." She did not protest an inch, only gulped and nodded.

It shortly abandoned her, but only to produce a small object with fine metal teeth from a drawer. "All right, Paint, I am sure your beautiful coat is your pride and joy, but I am going to need to shave the region where this little doodad will be going in. Do not worry; it will grow back and you will look as much back in commission as you feel!" She nodded again and winced as it went ahead to buzz away a large square of fur on her belly, which tumbled faintly onto the bed and the floor. The skin, which even she herself had never really seen exposed, was a tender, grayish pink underneath.

"It is ready," called the other surgeon, and without speaking, the two of them stuck a few cords into her body. It felt perfectly appropriate: she was an instrument in Dr. Eggman's plans now and ought to be handled like one. One was connected to a heart monitor, which showed her as being much less calm than she was inclined to feel, and the others were to various fluid pouches.

The robot who had been speaking to her pulled out the centerpiece of the affair, nonchalantly slicing through its manufactured plastic pouch - somehow, the appearance this coating produced of the contraption that was going inside her body being safe, clean, and something that lots of were made was the most calming detail she had yet noticed.

"Okay, Paint, I am sorry we do not have a teddy bear for you this morning - oh, that is right, you are far too old for such things anyway, haha. Well, it is time for you to sleep, so I will be guiding you into dreamland. I want you to be as calm as you can and think of as many words that rhyme with 'need' as you can. You are a smart girl, so I am counting on you!"

_So this is it - this may just be the end of Paint the Seedrian-Fox. In that case, better think over your life! No... don't think that way. You'll be fine. Just do what the robot says and you'll be out of this before you know it._

_Seed._

_Weed._

_Read._

_Bull-ied. Weird syllable stress, but I guess it counts._

_Secede._

_Lead._

_Treed._

_Peed._

_Speed. Ooh, this stuff's kicking in. Doesn't feel so bad!_

_Bleed. Man, the walls look weird. No, stay with it, Paint! You can do one more!_

_...Freed._


	80. Chapter 80

**Author's note: So, I've just come back from a vacation to New Orleans! My brother and I had never been to the South before, excepting Tennessee (long ago), Virginia (where our dad when to college), and Florida (Disney World), so we also made plenty of stops to classic cities and historical sites of the region. For obvious reasons, I didn't have a great deal of time on the computer, let alone specifically to write, but new sights to bored eyes can be a great way to reignite the living spirit. I also picked up a few bargain-bin (in name only!) CDs before leaving, which continue to make great personal soundtrack music as I write.**

_And I feel so... free._

A light tousle of wind brushed through Paint's fur. It was both blindingly bright, all colors collapsing to one, and vibrant, all of them standing beautifully on their own, in the strange space that surrounded her. She did not have to exercise her leg muscles to move, yet move she did - somehow - and if her perception of the pure passing of time was correct, she wasn't really going anywhere. The world was wide open to take in, but she had no inclination to seek it out, because right here, she was unbound by gravity.

_But... where?_

The first shock of questioning brought a little bit of her old self back, all that was needed to really understand this place. She looked up - ooh, too bright; that was the Sun. Pain did not feel good, but it felt real.

Down - and there were her furry orange feet, claws poking out of her stubby animal toes to pencil in a bit of realism to her identity. But she was clothed, draped all over by a serene white dress. It was a shame: as far as she could recall, which wasn't very, she had not even bathed before putting such a clean, diaphanous thing on. When she saw that she was sitting on an old wooden swing, she pushed against the brick-paved ground to give it a bit of momentum.

Left showed her little else via sensory input, but more as her cognitive faculties reawakened: she was in a garden ornate and well-kept enough for royalty or its democratically elected equivalent and adorned - not blocked, although she couldn't articulate anything beyond - by hedges.

That meant only right remained, since her two scratchy tails couldn't do much besides playfully brush nearby friends and remind knowing onlookers of her heritage, and this short list of tasks did not include backward vision. She turned her head right, and the nature of this experience broke through the curtains of denial to stride fully into view.

"Hi, Paint," Cosmo said with her familiar, soft, and very literally angelic voice. "I've missed you. I like our visits."

Her offspring hopped up, pulled the relaxed and purely herbaceous woman up by her hands, and gave her a warm, deep hug. "I'm glad to see you, too." Cosmo had on a dress just like her daughter's, and the implications that danced in Paint's head, the normal ceremonial uses of such clothing, were immediately frightening. Paint sat back down so that she could tremble unaccosted.

She couldn't be deliberately dishonest to her own mother, but if she could admit it to herself, she was just too scared, right in the safest and most tranquil of environments, to ask the most obvious question with its appropriate candor - and her trademark cleverness with words and logic could hold little weight against the specter of her own death.

But this place seemed to run on its own logic, and Cosmo knew just what she was thinking. Her cheeks tensed with the morning's first twinges of active excitement and her bright blue eyes ran clear and cool with optimism as she told the girl, "No, Paint, you're not dead. You have a lot more to do on this world, a lot of good to give from your heart to a lot of people who may never understand how much you love them. ...But you are lying in one place for a long time, and you may want to stretch your legs to get on that good as soon as you can."

Then she remembered the gross details of her body's real-life situation. Her mother, who saw her scowl so deeply and with such an unladylike display of sharp teeth, leaned into her side, and whispered, "Do not worry. Remember the Doctor's words. You are all going to be... _freed_."

"I knew it!" Paint cheered, unconsciously leaning forward so that her tails could wag as they pleased. "You're the best, Mom!"

"You look just like Tails when you're happy, haha," Cosmo giggled as she looked the girl over. "I'm counting on you to find him for me, so that you can describe everything about him. I want all the details of how my handsome fox is doing... since I can't see him myself."

Raising herself from the swing a few inches to get the position just right, Paint kissed her on the cheek. "There, heehee," she said, "I can give him that for you!"

"I'd like that," Cosmo giggled again. She sighed at her warm memories with the boy all of those years ago, and her cheeks flushed at the opportunity to see him once more, even if only vicariously.

"Let me tell you something else, Paint," she whispered, and her daughter leaned in for the secret secretive enough to be kept even from their completely empty audience. "You're going to have to learn to kiss better than that... if you want that toad boy to let you go any further."

"Eww, Mom!" Paint scooted instantly away and gently kicked her. Cosmo grabbed her leg again and the two Seedrians were laughing, fighting, playing, looking toward the future with bright eyes and diamond spectacles. In the moment Paint had no rational conception of her logistical future, but she and her mother had their loved ones in their hearts, and it was enough for their spirits on this morning together that they felt so, so _alive_.

And then, Paint was alive alone.

Across an asymptote forever unknowable by itself, the brightness became unbearable and then she began to crawl her way up from the darkness. She blunk a few times, yawned, and exercised her eyes as far as they would go without cramping to find herself, once again, in Dr. Eggman's surgical chamber.

Her grin lasted for about half a second: she attempted to move, but she was still fastened in, all four limbs bolted into place like inanimate tools. A scar, a rectangular lump, and a dull but lingering pain in her torso told her that the deadly device was in, but her surgeons were nowhere to be found. The cords, still plugged into her and giving her those inscrutable fluids, ensured she would be alive, but she was still alone. Either Dr. Eggman had forgotten all about her in his plans to swap the foundation of her emotional stability for the freedom of thousands of people, all sales final - or he had never intended to pay his end in the first place.

She shook with frustration - the shackles were tight enough to prevent her movements from even making noise. Instead, she took a deep breath and weighed her options. It was a short list: there were no tools anywhere near within her reach with which to escape herself, and the circumstances seemed to have it unlikely that the overseer of her operation would be coming back for her anytime soon, if he had ever intended the remainder of her life to consist of anything better than starving to death, waiting for bad behavior she hadn't the power to enact to trigger a quicker end. With another deep breath to compress her into the cannon of her last resort, she screamed out with all the fury in her still awakening lungs.

"_HEEEEEEEEEELP! HEEEEEEELP!_ _PLEASE!_" - sniff -"_I'M IN THE SURGICAL ROOM! I'M TRAPPED! PLEASE! ANYONE! I'M ONLY PLAYING FAIR AND DOING WHAT THE DOCTOR WANTED! _PLEASE! Please..."

No decibel count her little vocal cords were capable of could open the door - perhaps not a note of her desperation permeated these cruel walls - or could free even one hand to wipe her eyes. She was a pathetic sight, and as far as she knew lying there as her hope crumbled to dust, she would die a pathetic sight to no eyes. "Help..." she sobbed once more, flipping her head like a fried egg to wipe a few of her tears on the bed on which she would expire.

She breathed one resigned breath... and was rewarded by the pained pattering of small, clanking feet, ending with a pudgy silver robot scurrying in. He had wide, panicked eyes and a round head, clearly never designed to inflict any bodily harm but only to be helpful and friendly. As soon as her adrenaline could peel off enough for her to get a good look at him and remember his name, she smiled and called out to him.

"Bocoe!"

"I-I-I-I remember your name, too, and it is Paint!" he stumbled in words before he stumbled with his stubby legs over to the patient to shush her up. "But our greetings should end there. Ah, Dr. Eggman would probably not like me to even be here associating with one of his 'special' prisoners, but he's already been mad at me today so, ah, I guess one more blunder wouldn't be the end of me. I don't even know why he insists on having a medium soda instead of a large when he is going to insist just as violently on getting his extra fries..."

"I love you and your adorable voice!" she giggled and told him in a forced whisper, causing the hapless bot to clench up at realizing his own clumsiness.

"Hrm. What did Dr. Eggman _do_ to you?" he said, noticing the remnants of her operation as well as questioning the sanity of this excited girl who was in such a carefree mood in such a dangerous situation and with such a mangled body to show for it.

"Uh..." she murmured, calling on her faculty for improvising nice explanations as if to convince herself she was still okay, "...he was just extracting some cells from inside me so he could build an army of millions of Paints and... conquer the world with existential confusion! But he's done, so... would you mind loosening a couple of these up for me? I can invent a solution for the rest, heehee! I just need a boost. I'll take the blame if it comes to that."

He darted around the room, eyeing a half-dozen seemingly suspicious nodes of the space before realizing that his main potential for being caught red-handed was the door, which he slammed shut before cringing again at the loud clang. Thinking it best not to try his luck, Bocoe hopped back over to Paint and loosened all four of her shackles. She sighed with relief, plucking the cords out so she could be stricken with the assurance of life for real.

He was intent to follow this good - but rebellious - deed with running back out of the chamber, but she wouldn't have that. She growled playfully and lunged, and he squealed with terror as she got him. He wept at his folly, until he saw that she was kissing him all over. "I love you, Bocoe!" she hissed joyously to him. "You're too good a guy for such an evil man, and you should totally join us instead! We could be the 'Rebel Robot Tag-Team Team'!" As silly as an idea like that sounded to her, she was that giddy after another of the Doctor's minions had helped her so much more than he had ever needed to, and she was even charmed by his flighty demeanor.

With a wistful sigh and a disappointed look toward their feet, he pushed himself away from the girl. "No, I think Dr. Eggman has had enough troubles with one of his close assistants defecting already, and he has been especially mad with how happy that one became - no benefit to us lingerers. I appreciate your offer, but I" - he raised his voice only by the safest interval as he took a proud, heroic pose - "am an employed bot!"

"Well, think about it," she suggested finally. He kept mum and began to trot back out, but she rubbed his head a little extra to compensate for the lack of real hair to tousle and then nudged his rear end to push him on his way. He didn't look back once he was out the door; he only ran for the high hills and away from the guilt he was so sure he deserved.

Quietly, Paint stepped out into the hallway. Bocoe was still clanging off irretrievably far into the labyrinth, but she wanted to keep quiet. She snuck through the hallways in case anyone was listening, sniffed around each corner in case some hostile biological being was there to make a scent, and checked her back time and time again as if making up for the hours she spent lying on it during her surgery. No one listened, no one smelled, and no one crept up behind her, but she kept on just in case as she probed the entire place for some kind of safe way downstairs, since circumstances had seemed to tell her that, while Bocoe had been nice, kindness and helpful directions in this place were not to be relied on.

Perhaps it had been thirty minutes when she finally found a staircase, dark, cold, rusting all over, and making it certain that this complex was not meant for visitors. Her sense of time was back; she no longer considered herself to be dangling from fate's sharply clawed hands, but on the natural latest leg of her own journey, and as such, knowing what was what, where was where, and when was when was important.

She peered down the stairs, which spiraled around into darkness that the echoes emanating from her footsteps down them indicated continued for a long way below what was visible from the hallway lights. She ceased creeping and broke out into a trot, then a string of jumps, one hundred and eighty degrees down the corkscrew at some points. Even as rusty as the handrail was, she would have tried riding it down were it not close enough to the wall that her body would not fit. She tittered and then laughed with all the warm air of her still-living tummy on the way down and down. She would have sounded like a maniac if anyone were around, but on the last leg of a long, frightening race into the loving arms of one's closest companions, context matters.

She came at last to the bottom, which greeted her just as eagerly as she felt: she slammed into the heavy door she had had no way to see coming. Shaking off the dizziness like inconsequential sweat beads a marathoner wipes off while breaking the tape, she twisted the great doorknob open and spilled all at once into the aircraft's main chamber once more.

She was sweating up a small lake and panting up a husky wind to power its sailboats, stomach neatly shaven and patched up like a giant dressed fish, cuts elsewhere on her torso clotting like injuries sustained in reeling it in. She looked like she had been mangled out at the most stupid, dangerous voyage ever undertaken, and she felt like the first woman ever to survive it.

A veritable, if small, crowd formed to eye her. "What happened to you?" a man asked, drawing on little apparent medical expertise but lots of warm-hearted concern while inspecting the strange scarlet line and oddly angular lump that lay just underneath. "Eat a guitar pedal? You sure sound distorted enough, ahah!" He, and they, looked relieved when she coughed and her breaths normalized.

"Uh... yeah, you could say that," she stammered. "That's us tweens nowadays; we've always gotta be close to our music!" Most of her audience chuckled, and so she smiled at their lack of serious concern and followed up, "Has anyone here seen a suspicious-looking - b-but totally not suspicious-acting! - one of Eggman's robots around, red, about" - she coiled up, jumped for the heavens, and stuck her hand out at about Star's height - "yay high? O-or a brightly lit firefly? We're having a competition, and last I checked, they swallowed entire guitars!"

This they sounded more confused at, but a woman stepped forward, recognizing the description. "Oh, that robot! Yes! He was with others, about your age. They were walking not far from here just a few minutes ago, aimless; they went that way. They all looked so sad, and it was almost as if... No, it _was_ true that the robot had the most vivid emotions of any of them."

Paint couldn't have stopped her grin if she'd tried, hearing something as sensitive to robot-kind as that. It was wonderfully distorted music to her ears - no, as if she had borrowed Cayne's. "It sure does! Thank you so much!" she yipped and trotted off to the woman's marked direction.

This search was even shorter than the last, as most people had given up too much hope and/or gotten too bored with their lack of a stable online connection to use their electronic devices much - before long, one tail she recognized shone out beautifully through the fragile darkness. _Like the butt cheeks of an angel!_ she beamed inside.

To the literal light at the end of the figurative tunnel, she jogged, then sprinted through the crowd. She found a clearing of sunlight; she was home again. She noticed off to the fringes that the pillbugs were still tagging along - or were her older friends doing so with them? - but one person in particular was her target. He marked the spot where she needed to plant an X, a sudden and resounding X, a sonic X.

All they could have seen was a startling rush of green and orange speeding toward them, possibly too fast and unexpected to turn from frightened to happy. She didn't care. She tackled Arrowhead; her fur pressed onto his slimy skin, his skin to the cold and uninviting floor, and her mouth to his mouth. Tails would need a gentler one, but he could wait. For now, Arrowhead would have an energetic greeting, Paint would have a welcoming back, and Esmeralda would have a demonstration of one way love was expressed by small-towners on a mission.


	81. Chapter 81

"Wow." Maxwell crossed his arms, keeping all of his emotions in except for the forgivable escape of a small chuckle of happiness. "Are you ever gonna take it upon yourself to learn normal reuniting etiquette?"

Her eyes glossed over with a frosty layer of joy, she removed herself from Arrowhead and hugged him, too, forgetting until the last second to move her arm out of the way of his wing. "Maybe."

When she finally let the insect she was closest to go, though, he shuddered at noticing something, as did the entire family of insects to whom she and her decision-making style were less familiar. Jewel and Star seemed unsettled, too, and Arrowhead... was still pondering the faint stamps of blood she had inadvertently pressed onto his skin.

"You gat a square on you, with no hair on it!" Oliver finally blurted out. "That wasn't dere before, right? Is that da fashion where you're from?"

Arrowhead shook himself alert and stood up to check her out with the others; he sighed with shaken disappointment when he saw what had been done to her - coupled with how blissfully unconcerned her face indicated she was with it.

"Paint..." he groaned. He was angered, but with his eyes closed, and as such with little indication as to at whom. "Why... do you have a scar on your stomach? What plan of yours could that possibly have been a part of?"

With everyone gathered around her, she had no time to think out her safest possible response in detail, so she had to settle right away on only revealing what was necessary. "Uh... well, Dr. Eggman just did what he said he was gonna do! You heard that he's studying animal-robot interaction - well, he put a device in me that'll let him do that!" She gingerely prodded the lump, relieved when nothing happened. "It's gonna monitor how I'm feeling about... being with Star! Which, as you, Arrow, should be well aware..." - she scooted over to and cuddled the confused Star itself - "is pretty great!"

"Um... are you s-sure that's all he stuck there?" Jewel whimpered. Before she could stop herself, she glared almost threateningly at him, but after she could, she realized he didn't deserve that kind of response at all.

"Yeah." Her voice was hollow, quiet, monotone, and desperately promoted by the girl as normal for her. "That's it."

Esmeralda flitted up to her, gently whisking the others out of the way. She inspected Paint's stomach and her beady eyes hopped around like mad, eventually ending up making proper eye contact. "I don't believe it," she said, her face unreadable.

Paint didn't dare breathe, and Esmeralda rewarded her with an enthusiastic jump in the energy of her voice. "I can't believe you're so brave!" she marveled. "You ee-actually met up with _Dactor Eggman_ and you managed to butter him up into not killing you! Teach me your ways, o leafy one!"

"I can believe it." Arrowhead exhaled, accidentally loosing a deep belly laugh in the process. He twitched a little in the leg, almost losing his balance, but was able to quickly correct his stature.

She looked into his eyes almost with real gratitude, but he took on a stony countenance. "But I still think we should get it removed whenever we can, whenever we _do_ escape. I mean... he's been lenient before, but who knows what kind of tricks he might be playing here."

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what kind of tricks," Maxwell snorted with a twinkle in his eye, "he turned a normal, everyday fox into a pincushion! It's magical!"

Oliver's and Esmeralda's parents eyed each other playfully. Their father put one loving hand on each of his children's shoulders and announced, "I tink our next vacation should be to somewhere way out in da forest, where crazy people like dis are born."

"Then we'd better pack an extra suitcase!" their daughter yelled with delight, roughly grabbing Jewel by the side - he might have tripped over his own feet if she had not been so forceful and sudden - and pulling him away from the finished spectacle of Paint and back to her side. "By the way, Jewel... what's your number?"

All was well. Paint and the zany but well-known antics whose latest ostensibly harmless result was a harmless little contraption stuck into her torso by a silly old doctor were no longer aggravating her friends. Whatever the device's sinister side held in store, for now she felt at peace once more.

Her serene state of mind notwithstanding, she suddenly felt a minor jolt, bringing her close to falling over as well. She stuck her foot out in the direction of this minor disruption, regaining balance without much need for full-body exercises, and, unfettered by a couple of curious looks, she was fine thereafter.

Others, both in her and Arrowhead's immediate circle of associates and elsewhere in the great chamber, however, began experiencing similar symptoms. She noticed something about them: they were too regular to be caused by anything sneakily noxious in the air, and too uniform in direction, even. And as the full-room shakes began being accompanied by dulled and far-off but indisputable noises - great ones caused by great movements - she was sure of it: the shaking was a condition of the entire aircraft.

And judging by the hasty crackling-on of the loudspeaker once more and the stifled grunts of that infamous voice on the other end, he wasn't doing it on purpose.

"This is your captain speaking!" He was having trouble staying calm, and clattering noises in his office were audible. "I regret to announce to such a patient and well-mannered crew as yourselves, my noble passengers, that we are experiencing some _minor_ disruptions. We hope to have these nuisances taken care off shortly so that we may resume our planned course of travel, because I know you all are every bit as excited to stay with me as I am with you!

"There is also one passenger, who will know who she is, whom I would like to thank dearly for being such a rollicking good sport and - _so far _\- being on quite good behavior! I would like her to know that I have not forgotten my promise to her, although I will have to indefinitely postpone it. There is no need to panic, my sweet princess! Everything shall be well, and you have no need to indicate to anyone else any different."

Paint attracted a few curious glares from her friends for that one, but she could not respond outside of a sheepish smile and an uncomfortable trickle of sweat.

"And now..." There was a kind of clicking noise, like a machine held with both hands being prepared for use. "I think it's time for me to fulfill my duty as protector of this vessel and of you dears and get rid of these nasty pests once and for all. Bocoe, would you mind- why do you have _hairs_ on you?"

The microphone clicked gently off, leaving the passengers without much information for the time being, albeit with plenty of questions to occupy the silence. They wouldn't have to ponder for long, though - the ship began to shake again, and more violently and loudly. If there had been urbane hotels around, they would have been having a tough time staying completely upright.

Star whirred with a curious kind of apprehension, like riding a barrel through a rocking river in an uncharted jungle. Jewel slunk into the crevice of its arm, and Maxwell jumped in with him, grabbing the hyena and bracing him with his own arm to Star's protective side; Arrowhead found his wrist taken by Paint, who took Star's free hand to join the chain of steady friends.

Oliver's and Esmeralda's parents grabbed each other and their children, positioning their feet on the ground to make for the highest possible traction. "Do we _haaaaave_ to?" the youngest insect whined. "I like dis ride!"

Dr. Eggman's microphone, which could not make up its mind, demonstrated this failure again. This time, however, the voice on the other end was a new one.

"Yo, Eggbutt, what does _this_ button do?" It was a young male's voice, which was nasal to an almost pained extent.

"What do _you_ think? Can't you _read_?! It's right there: 'SPEAKER'! How did you get it in your thick skull that he'd outright answer a dumb question like that, anyhow?!" This voice was deeper, gruffer, and more naturally angry.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Knuckles!" said the first voice. "I should really spend more time studying the layouts of standard aircraft control panels instead of kicking so much Egg-tail. Since you've clearly read up on this stuff already, how about lowering the temperature in this cabin a comfortable couple of degrees? I can _smell_ from here that you need it!"

"WHY, YOU!" Now came the sounds of things being knocked over, of fists flying and a playful boyish fight running its course.

"Sonic," came a third voice, a rather high-pitched and soft female one that had to work harder to speak over the other two, "you _promised_ you weren't going to spend this whole time fighting! We might really have a chance here bringing this ship down safely, and you two are throwing it away!"

"Chao!"

Now it was the second voice again. "Well, Cream, I'd _love_ to be serious, but _some_ of us here are- YAAAAAAAHHHH!"

There was a sharp firing noise. "Knuckles," chided the first voice again, "how could you forget the three rules of fighting - especially for dudes with all of these weapons on their side?

"Less talk..." _Bang!_

"More action!" _Pow!_

"And... uh, for number three... always listen to the bluest dude in the room!" _Craaaaaash!_

"Sonic, I've got a hunch that those rules are _just_ self-serving enough that you probably wrote them yourself!"

"Uh, yeah, I did! And that's why you should listen to me - my adages are to die for!"

"You WILL be dying for them if you don't stop playing with fire, Mr. Philosopher!" _Ffffffnnnnn!_

"I think I like that one. Sonic the Hedgehog: fighter for justice against megalomaniacal eggheads by day... coiner of eternal wisdom by night! And just for you, my favorite Knuckle-head... I'll give you a personal signed copy of my first book of quotes - using a gel pen of Rouge's very favorite scent, and I might even throw in my very own key to her apartment! A special gift for a special friend, heh!"

"RRRRRRAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!" More objects were flung around the room up there, and more grunts and screams squeaked out from all parties involved. The clamor died down, though, after a light clicking noise... and then a defeated, drawn-out growl from Dr. Eggman!

"Hey, not bad, Sonic!" It was the deep, serious voice, for once a little lighter and more satisfied. "Turns out you can suppress your drive for reckless 'freedom' at all costs long enough to handcuff someone who needs it! I'm impressed!"

"Why, thank you! I'll do it to you sometime if ya like!"

"Chao! Chao!"

"Now scram, you!" commanded the nasally voice, followed by the cowering screams of the docile assistant of Dr. Eggman's who was present and the slamming of a door. "The Doctor's all booked!"

"Oh, Bocoe!" Dr. Eggman wailed. "You can break this door down to come back in and rescue me, right? You're a big, strong boy and I believe in you! ...Just please, be careful with the glass! Just had this accursed office cleaned..." A Bocoe-like voice mumbled unintelligibly, as if, well, behind an impasse.

"Sonic!" It was the voice now known to the listeners who had been paying attention as _Knuckles_. "The speaker's still on! Couldn't you at least have studied the layout of this contraption for two seconds?!"

"Oh!" Sonic exclaimed. "Well... then this'll be our chance to reassure all those people trapped in here on the other line that everything's gonna be wicked cool!"

The Doctor put on his charming coat again, his voice jumping close to whistle pitch. "Uh... _what_ people? You mean all of those citizens I dropped off back in Yakhtanmantannji after realizing how much of a rotten old fool I was for attempting to kidnap them? I- I'm afraid you're too late, my well-meaning but tardy friends! Now how about mending your misdeeds by freeing me?"

"Yeah, see, Sonic?" said Knuckles with a smirk that very nearly jumped from absent sight to present sound. "We were wasting our time by coming here!"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, just like we were wasting our time by checking out that old 'sludge refinery' of his. I can still smell a bit of it on you, even through all the rank BO! You've still got plenty of deception training to go, 'No-Guile-s'!"

There was a pause in the dialogue, and down in the chamber, the otherwise optimistic prisoners passed around what felt like a single, giant look of confusion.

"I hope you can land an aircraft better than you can crack a pun, you loon!" Knuckles retorted. _Oh, a pun. Yeesh_, Paint reflected. _"Knuckles", though - where have I heard that name before? "Sonic"? "Cream"? Are they references to characters in that classic novel I kept forgetting to get back to Arrow's mom, the one I had to pretend had never existed when I spilled tomato soup all over it? Hmm..._

"Nah." Sonic laughed, and realizing what was happening, the crowd joined him in an uproar of joy. "That's what we agreed I'm counting on _you_ for! Hop to it, bookworm! It's time for this bird to make an early landing!"


	82. Chapter 82

**Author's note: So, after a summer****of working for a company to coat houses around the Chicago area with - you guessed it - paint, I'm back at college now and ready for more adventuring with my favorite OCs - and now canon characters, too! It's truly magical what a simple change of scenery can do for the psyche.**

"Dis isn't another trick, is it?"

"Doesn't look like it, Oliver! I dunno who these characters are, but I tink we've finally run into da good guys! Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

_'Good guys'... Well, they're not on Dr. Eggman's side! I... guess I shouldn't assume so quickly that these people are automatically our friends, but they DID say they were... and their names are almost..._ Paint mulled the phonetics of these common words over. She squinted away the bright light and shielded her ears from what she could of the roaring applause with her shoulders - the lack of consistent sleep wasn't helping either. _Oh, well, I shouldn't be getting hung up on this,_ she sighed inside. _It doesn't matter a bit toward carrying my buddies safely through the rest of this journey... to..._

She remembered the source of these names, and it began a wave of energy through her body. She couldn't control the laughs bubbling out and all over the scene from inside her, but that was all right: it was too exciting to stifle them anyway. "Those are my dad's friends!" she shrieked. "The ones who took the ship over! It's them! Morris said so!"

"Hey, yeah!" Arrowhead's face seemed to glow just like hers. "I suppose they are! I think he described them as some kind of _heroes_ of Mobius, a-and that looks like just what we're seeing!"

Maxwell grabbed the both of them in his burly arms; he shot glances mocking challenge to one and then the other. "So, do we think they came alone? 'Course they did; three's plenty to take down a pile o' snot like Eggman."

"It's... uh... too bad that we aren't going to get to meet anyone _else_ who could've accompanied them!" Jewel tittered, fluttering closer to his friends.

"Ohhhhh, you're right!" Paint hung her head and allowed her posture to droop down, barely keeping eye contact and just having gained enough control over her emotions. "We're not going to _meet_ that guy at all! How tragic will it be that he'll have to settle for us knocking him to the ground, quite possibly blocking out his vision and going too ga-ga over him to form any intelligible words, huh?"

"Paint, uh... _if_ he's actually there," Arrowhead began to stammer as he forced himself to be a little serious, "m-maybe as a reinforcement, you're not actually going to..."

"Why - wanna restrain me if I do?" Immediately she stared into his eyes again, before bringing his head beside hers so that they could mime a greeting together. "Nah, just kidding. But the ol' slouch _is_ going to have to meet the first guy who really _was_ by my side!"

"What's goin' on, Esmeralda?" Oliver's voice cried out from the sidelines, the more ecstatic members of the group only paying half attention to it.

"No idea, but i' looks like we're gonna see something exciting, and I'm countin' on dese guys to deliver-er-er-errr-aaahhh!"

Having been shaken somehow, Esmeralda scrambled to stay upright - it was a losing struggle. She tumbled onto her belly, shrieking when she saw the same fate befalling her baby brother. She lunged for him to protect his fall, grabbing him around the abdomen and landing once again on her back with him tightly braced in both arms.

"Hi, sister!"

"Uh... hi, brother!"

Star wailed out against the growing clatter of the ship's interior and of fellow bodies hitting one another and the floor. At first the robot's noise was immediate and emotional in nature, but it found a second purpose warning the others to its possible fall. Paint wouldn't have this, though - she rushed to its side and grabbed its arm, reminding the robot how they could both attempt to stay standing with correct leg position. While the group was wiser to such traumas and they knew now that this was only a blemish on their trip to safe sanctuary and a natural consequence of the rapid air descent involved in the pursuit thereof, they were still young, fragile, and frightened. Maxwell led the charge, though, for Jewel and Arrowhead to brace Star's giant body so that they might all help one another be safe.

"Oh, yeah..." Sonic said, the opening milliseconds of his message corrupted by the hurried crackling-on of the microphone. "Kinda forgot to mention that air descents in a ship this large can get violent, but hey, you're tough people! Hah, we hope to have you all deposited safely in Electric City before long."

"Chao, Chao, Chao!"

"That's right, Cheese!" It was Cream again. An optimism sang through her small voice, enlivening it like a hummingbird at the dawn of spring. "Remember, everyone, we have Dr. Eggman all locked-up and he's not going to be hurting you aaaaaaaany more!"

"Not them, at least..." It was Knuckles' turn to speak, but he had opted to address only his companions. "I'd prefer _not_ to have to look at his conniving old face for the rest of this voyage, short as it is."

"Then don't! How about lookin' at _me_ instead? And what's more, I can be all yours when we're done - I ain't goin' anywhere!"

"Urrrrghh..." A slapping sound occurred that presumably belonged to Knuckles palming his face, and for the time being, there were no other noises up there, or voices. Perhaps luckily, the prisoners on the brink of freedom had a greater calling at hand in surviving their landing with as little bruising as possible.

Esmeralda was happy as a clam with Oliver, but made sure to give her favorite Jewel another grin and wave of goodwill - just in case he had somehow forgotten her. He giggled and waved back - the laugh came out louder and more sustained in the middle than he had perhaps meant, and Paint figured it had to do with another of the ship's rattlings, but somehow it might've just been fine either way.

"Max?" Oliver poked his head up to get the attention of his favorite new insect. "Do fireflies hate bright sunlight? I forget. I can cover your eyes if you'll pick me up, if you want to!"

"Nah, we're cool with the stuff, so don't bother," he coughed, holding his injured wing and swaying it a little bit as a result of the heaving, "but like anyone else, we look way cooler with shades."

"Woooowwww," the child gasped, "I bet you would!"

Paint shivered in the clammy air, faintly enough that it could easily have been psychosomatic but enough to trigger a related question. "Hey, Arrow... got any idea what time it is? Owing to my brief... uh, 'excursion', I-I obviously can't give the best estimate myself..."

"Uh... I don't know, I'm not much better off than you," the toad pondered. "I don't have a built-in clock or anything... as handy and highly functional as that would be. But if I had to guess... I'd say two o'clock in the afternoon, maybe?"

"What's that, 2:00?" she squealed with glee. "Alright, folks, all bets are in! Time to roll the time dice and see if Mr. Arrowhead the Toad of Sunny Clearing will be walking home a winner tonight! Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaaaaaa!"

"Hey, wait, I never-!"

"I'm just kidding!" she cackled. "We'll just see what we get, whenever we DO get off this thing. But you know I'd trust you better than anyone else when it comes to stuff like this!"

"I guess, but I... whoooooaaaaaa!" He was tottering more violently now - they all were - and his eyes bugged out to an extent rarely seen. Air near the ground could be a thing of mixed blessings.

Paint strained against Star's weight, but the feeling of being on their turgid trip's last leg injected just a bit more juice into her muscles. "Come on, Arrow, I know you can do it! Dig those slimy webbed feet into the metal ground for traction!"

"Hahah... thanks, Paint. And you can dig your _roots_ into the ground and tendril your way to safety, you... plant!"

"Heehee, I sure will!" _Thud!_

With that, Star stomped each of its feet on the floor once, just to make sure, and whistled up and down its octaves with joy. Once more, the great metal trapdoors marking the bottom of the aircraft started to slide open, and the first ugly creaks of this movement attracted droves of eager individuals to first stick their legs out, then hop down to the apparent ground below. There was no central authority behind the madness, but there also were no screams or strikethrough bone breaks to be heard, so it seemed to be a system that worked.

Prodded by the waves of people streaming around it, Star eventually began to move. Its steps were all careful, but Paint jumped behind its back to gently push it into real motion. "It's okay, Star, you'll be fine - and so will we!"

The group was now nearing the trapdoor itself, and Star's pained moans showed that it remained to be convinced. Oliver, now walking proudly beside his sister and both ahead of their parents, gave the robot an energetic thumbs-up and, with it, an idea. Star scooted ahead, using chirping noises all the while to make sure that everyone else in the crowd was getting just a bit out of the way, and carefully lowered itself down to the floor below.

"He's bein' a platform!" Esmeralda gasped. "What a sweetheart!" Sure enough, all of its friends enjoyed the opportunity to partake in a natural occurrence among close friends: climbing over them like furniture props. Oliver went first to spend just a little more time hugging its new buddy, but soon enough, everyone had two feet on the asphalt canvas below.

The open arms with which the metropolis of Electric City welcomed its unexpected new transients were a few: bright sunlight, air that kept the ship's general coolness but felt invigorating in its near-nonexistent humidity, a few autumn leaves left untouched by the stampede away from the ship's opening, and crowds of police officers and other official-looking individuals of comparable officiality. Between the masses of people and the bulge on all surroundings of the sun, so too did skyscrapers stand proudly up, with quietness signifying that others were to say the important things, like guardsmen. It was all strange and overloading to the senses as the adventurers were shoved out of their cage into the wide-open exterior of modern and sovereign civilization... but compared to the prior option, Paint personally felt safe at home.

Arrowhead's hand interlocked with hers; she accepted it. The ship was raised up on gigantic wheels that had been lowered during the ordeal as satisfactory landing gear - only just high enough for Star to stand, but giving the rest of them plenty of headroom. They marched out to see the sights and, less excitingly to them, to be seen as the sights that they were. The police officers were dutifully checking off each person who passed by them; they were collecting data that, upon coming into earshot, turned out to be the names of this happy captive and his or her home city. When an answer was received to the effect of "here..." or "yer lookin' at it!", he or she would receive a hearty laugh and a pass forward to catch a routine bus or subway. The others, however, were flocked off to a terminal flanked by dozens of buses, or if their destination was common enough, to one of a few other buses that were already waiting.

Paint figured that the officers might have heard of _her_ hometown, but the humdrum bureaucracy of the algorithm was giving her an idea. "Psst, Arrow..." she tittered to her first available friend and first confidant in command, "wanna just sightsee here for a while? We can do it! We just have to tell them this is where we live. I mean... if you, Jewel, Max, and Star want, I'm up. Heck, maybe those three will be big enough attractions to the pillbugs that our new friends will have to invite us over!"

His eyes were bugging out again - or perhaps they had never retreated - but they only looked tired, and not in the sense of needing a traditional, activity-filled vacation. "Uh..." he moaned, so devoid of enthusiasm that this activity of expelling meaningful noise barely qualified as speech, "well... Paint..."

"It's okay, Arrow! We don't have to. I just thought I'd ask - and good call on your part" - she had to take notice of the other three's energy levels, which also trailed hers - "it looks like consensus is on your side. Maybe my dumb photosynthetic brain is just giddy with sunlight, and _you_ should be shielding _my_ eyes from all this!"

"Thank you."

_Screeeeeeeech!_ Everyone would still be getting a _little_ excitement to welcome them, whether they liked it or not: a cute little blue airplane was merrily drooping down from the sky, starting out near the broken windows that looked to house the ship's cockpit and pirouetting, sashaying, and air-writing squiggly scripts of alien languages on its lazy and triumphant trip to ground level. "Whooooooaa!" the crowd roared, although the officers, whether because of their officiality or just being used to seeing these characters in situations like this, were less enthused.

At long last the airplane landed, and the un-ergonomic but very cool-looking door on its side sprang open to free - and reveal - its crew.

First out was a blue hedgehog, grinning like he'd never helped save anyone's life before, much less win acclaim for it, and posing like a hero as though that was all he _did_ do. "SOOOOOO-NIIIC!" the shouts came.

Next was a red echidna whose slightly hunched and entirely dignified posture taken in the process of escorting the cuffed Dr. Eggman out of the plane suggested to any objective observer that he was the all-business... "KNUUUUUU-CKLES!"

Then were the owners of the only other two new voices heard during the flight: a tan-colored rabbit, who wore a tight black tee-shirt and artificially ripped blue jeans - "CREEEEEEEEEAMM!" - and her Chao - "CHEEEEEEEEEESE!"

And then, two things were slammed shut: hopes of a fifth crew member, and the plane's door. That was it. This should not have been much of a disappointment, so Paint sighed and shrugged it off as best she could, with a physical shrug for good measure.

Dr. Eggman was led quietly away, giving the others full attention of the eternally grateful crowd. "People of Electric City and unrelated municipalities that I'm gonna lump together anyway!" Sonic shouted, his charisma commanding quite enough silence that no amplification was needed. "I'm pleased to announce that - once again! - we have Dr. Eggman in custody - yeah, yeah, quit your bawling, Eggy, we got ya fair and square! - and you are all free to return to your homes! ...That's what my buds and I are gonna do, too, but... oh, I guess I should depart with some of my famous wisdom.

"Uh... oh, jeez, I'm clamming up... ah, stay in school, kids! Especially if you're in a highly summoned, mathematical field like engineering! One of my weaknesses that even _I _have to admit is that I was never much good at that stuff... but who here knows my pal Tails?" Cheers, then at a dull murmur, exploded from his loving fans around him. "Yeah, it'd make his heart a whole lot happier if more young students were brave enough to get into that jazz. Tails is a good guy, and you can always hit him up for help."

"What he _means_, everyone," Knuckles was sure to add, "is that help can often come from unexpected sources - if you don't just believe, but you make it happen with hard work - for example, as we do in the science fields. Isn't that right, Sonic?"

"Yeah, yeah, you can do the next one of these, big shot; I need time to recharge my craft anyway. C'mon, let's roll - oh, hey, Cream, if you can still see the clock inside, what time is it?"

"It's 2:00 on the dot, Sonic!"

"Not bad - we make a good team, guys! We may have started out slugs today, but we finished up surprisingly nice and quick... and Freedom's on its way!"


	83. Chapter 83 - End of Part Three

With that, the group of rescuers shuffled back onto their steed for their well-deserved voyage home. As if in vain compensation for the attention they continued to receive from all eyes in the massive crowd, Sonic, Knuckles, Cream, and Cheese looked out all over, continuously and slowly waving to everyone in the audience so they could all feel - and hopefully rightly so - a warm _you're welcome_, that these animals were at their service anytime. The others must've missed her, but Paint could've sworn Sonic's eyes lingered just a little bit longer at her than anyone else. Oh, well - likely this was part of the hedgehog's well-honed and radially symmetric charismatic aura. Whatever the true nature, Sonic shrugged it off and hopped back into the plane, and just as suddenly and mercifully as the animals had come, they were off into the sky.

"Alright, everyone," called an imposing-looking police officer whose attire was fancier enough than his compatriots' that he was probably their chief, "nuttin' to see here! Dis is public space right 'ere, and I tink there's gonna be some ethnic parade or whatever today, so let's get all of you bused off to your destinations as soon as possible and in orderly fyashion, please! And in da sake of fairness" - he lowered his bullhorn to motion to Dr. Eggman's still-present airship, whose large shadow was somehow no longer imposing - "we'll also have to find somethin' to do with this myassive hunk of-"

And just like that, loud noises began emanating from all around the airship. Citizens shrieked and ran away from it, exacerbating the crowding problem and drawing out more frustrated yells from the officers, but it displayed little interest in enacting any retribution for the capture of its master.

Instead, the ship slowly lifted off, gaining a safe distance above the crowd but staying put for the time being. The familiar microphone crackle was heard, albeit with a greater sort of metallic echoing.

"Uh... h-hello, everyone!" Paint brightened up at the identification of the voice, which was Bocoe's. "I apologize for being unruly," the voice announced, "but Dr. Eggman would not be happy with us robots if this were to be impounded and sold for scrap or what-have-you - in fact, h-he would probably do the same of us! So I am going to have to be removing it from the premises until the Doctor is able to reunite with it, however that takes place... I am not worried, for he has had the foresight to provide his immediate subordinates - including myself, of course - with flight training commensurate to the great love he has for us!"

But Decoe wanted to speak, too. "That's right - ALL of us! Come on, Bocoe, let me have a turn!"

"I don't think so, Decoe! He always lets YOU use the Nuclear-Turbo-Vacuum, a privilege denied me!"

"That's because you got his mustache caught in it and we had to craft a new one out of his back hair! How about you levitate yourself away from that control panel, 'Silver'-Man?"

"I will not!"

However clumsily, and involving rotations, curly-q's, and changes in speed and intensity characteristic of niche avant-garde music genres, the airship did lift off and make its way out of the city.

"Um... I think this display of friendly teamwork would make a great place to leave off on," said Jewel in a small voice. It had been quiet, though, and his friends laughed loudly and indeed got into line for their departure.

"You _sure_ you guys don't want to go somewhere exciting?" chided Paint, gathering the others into a huddle.

"Namosstok doesn't excite you?" Arrowhead answered. "I'm excited."

"You? Interested in a _new_, _weird_ place? A _city_, even?" Paint made an audible gasp and stared curiously into the toad's eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with my Arrow? If you've swallowed him, you monster, I bet I can draw him out through your throat again by putting to siren's song a list of all the reasons cities are overwhelming and dangerous! Ohhhhhhhhhh..."

"W-well, I would've thought you'd _want_ to meet up with your biological family again," he giggled, "but if you don't, I suppose we can all go back home. You're right, this _has_ been an overwhelming trip. And _we're_ all you need, anyhow! Now, if you _have_ actually written a song like that..."

"Aww, that's right! You guys _are_ all I need! ...And you too, pillbugs!" She turned to them, and her eyes swam in their scaly figures to take in as much of them as she could while she was still with them. "I dunno," she giggled wearily, "you guys are so tight with me, I'm beginning to think I could be part-invertebrate, too..."

"Whoa..." Oliver gaped.

A few migrants bumped impatiently into the adventurers' shoulders, cluing them in to move up in line. They didn't have much time left. As intent as they were on moving on, somehow, sometime, abstractly, no one looked too happy about this development.

"Hey, Jewel?" Esmeralda asked the boy. Jewel's ears pricked up and all attention was on her – though he had no idea what she wanted, he was determined to give it to her.

She hobbled up to him, sad as could be... and stuck her arm forward to rip a tuft of his fur off.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed before he could even think to yelp out in pain, and the tenderness with which she rubbed the area it had come from made the moment all the more bizarre. He looked back up at her as if to ask, _why?_, and to accept any possible answer with appreciation.

"Because... I need sometin' to remember you by, of course!" she was quick to fill in.

Maxwell tensed his upper arms, ready just as well for a fight as for a hearty handshake goodbye. "Listen, punk, normal people remember people they're leaving in different ways than that."

"Well, but," Jewel whispered, "I think it's okay; I don't really know if I _had_ anything else to giv-"

"Then don't give her anything; you can leave just like that!"

"It's okay, Max," Paint tried to soothe, unable to resist inserting herself, "I know how much it hurts, and it stinks, but I'm sure all she wanted was t-"

_Pop!_

As mysterious as ever, the girl was now holding one of her scales in her hand. A spot of fragile, dim-blue flesh pulsated on her belly where the scale had been, and the corners of her eyes were welling up with tears, and yet she was smiling. "Here!" In case there was the slightest doubt of him getting the message, she clasped his hand in both of hers, and when she let go, the piece of her was now his.

Jewel's eyes had better occupations at present than his gift, however – they nearly popped out of their sockets poring over her self-injury; all he could sigh in relief at was its lack of any of her blood drawn. "A-a-are you sure you don't n-need this back, Esmeralda? Will it go back on?"

"Huh? I dunno. Maybe. B-but dat's not the point! It's yours!" Only then did her face register any recognition of _his_ emotional state, though, and then she was quick with a rebuttal. "I'll be fine. They grow byack. I don't know much about hyenas, but I hope it's the same with you?"

"...Yeah. I'll be alright, too."

"I'd apologize for my daughter's behavior anyway, Jewel," admitted her father, "but I've long given up trying to change it. She tends to get what she wants... and if you're feelin' okay anyway..."

Arrowhead rather needed a breather, and so he turned to his confiding buddy. "Paint, I'm not the only one on this planet who thinks this makes a-absolutely zero sense, right?"

"Is that your way of asking for some of _my_ fur, Arrow? What do you need to remember me for if you have me right here, you silly boy?" She grinned and pressed his hand, already nearby her, to a particularly fuzzy and soft region of her side. This attempt to lighten him up was failing, however, so she fell back on simple analysis, which anyone could work with. "Uh, I think making sense isn't her point here."

"I think one insect in my life is enough," he gulped. And he was just unsettled enough that he felt more comfortable keeping his hand there.

Maxwell coughed loudly and gave the toad a light prod with his foot. "Yeah, and he's good for kicking people into action. Time to go."

"Oh! Yes... h-h-hello," Arrowhead stammered to the officer fronting the line. He glared down at the toad and audaciously clapped his hands once for attention.

Paint inched forward, taking a deep breath, and started speaking. "Yes! Sorry. Got any buses to Namosstok?"

"Uh, yes, we do. That where you kids live?"

"Y-yes! Of course! The city of bountiful coasts... uh, surly iguanas, and mysterious banks. Odd mix, I guess, but we make it work. Gotta love it!"

"Mhm."

He was still staring straight down at her, just as judgmental in manner as he had at Arrowhead. She gulped, her helplessness bare, and Jewel tried his hand. "L-listen, sir, we were only-"

"Nah, don't bodder, kid. I'm just concerned about dis... robot you got. Looks a little too dangerous to be in the vicinity of pyassengers it's our duty as civil officials to protect. In fact... if I didn't know better, I'd take it for a nefarious creation of Dr. Eggman."

"Star?" Jewel croaked, gazing forlornly at his companion so much effort had gone into protecting from prejudice and its associated sorts of detainment.

"Well..." Arrowhead filled the gap, "um, luckily, we do know better! This isn't an actual robot; it's just a costume!"

"Yeah!" Paint chimed in. "We were abducted right after attending a science fiction convention... and our friend Star liked her costume so much, she decided to keep it on!"

"Costume?" the officer asked. "From what?"

Dead end. How could she invent the title of a fictional work of whose conventions she, with her small-town mind, was still pitifully ignorant? It was all so overwhelming... and then Arrowhead blurted out, "_Explosion Echidna_?"

"Haha!" He laughed deeply, heartily. "My son loves those! Never seen 'em myself, but wit' him being da little robot fiend he is, this costume looks about right. Yeah, go on ahead, ya little finks. I'll tell him all about dis 'cosplayer' or whatever they're called dat I found. Hey, Lou!" he shouted to another uniformed man standing dutifully near a large side door of a nearby bus. "Lower da wheelchair ramp! We gat a loyal movie nerd here who needs extra space to get on!"

In the interval of a few minutes, and requiring the exhaustion of a couple of other officers cramming the hapless, bulky robot onto a vehicle designed for much smaller and more carbon-based occupants, the five friends were once again situated in the back, tightly spaced but together again. Although a few other true denizens of this exciting new locale found themselves unable to resist fleeting peeks of the curious, novel machine, the bus started trustily up and Namosstok was on its way.

"Nice job, buddy," Maxwell told the toad, giving him a high-five rough enough to solidify that he meant the rare congratulation.

"Methodical remembering often works well," he beamed. And that was all he wanted to speak of it. "Er... is anyone else a little cold in here?"

"Didn't your mom pack us cold-blooded freaks those dorky clothes?" Maxwell started to remind until he too was driven to shivering by the specter of a condemning detail, perhaps the fault of someone else but frustrating all the same. "Oh... the truck." He punched his own open palm. "Guess we're on our own, lads!"

Paint gritted her sharpest canine teeth in frustration, too, playing an instrument much more jagged, ugly, and deserved in signification than the world's smallest violin: she had left the world's most owed violin inside the vehicle as well. Amethyst would need another.

"I think I'm alright," Arrowhead sighed, his own mind barnacled with concerns just as angering and yet completely hopeless as theirs. He yawned. "I'm... ah, not going to be awake to complain too much anyway."

Paint lay down on top of him, and she felt his shivers fade into her warmth. "Well, now you've got a blanket!" she chirped, kindling the furnace further with her forced delight.

"Haha... thanks, Paint." He opened his mouth to loose his sleepy breath again, and after a brief stretch of his arms and legs, he finally drifted off.

The fox figured she had better join him for the journey ahead, so she closed her eyes and let the bus's natural bumping rock her to sleep. The others could do as they saw fit.

Passively, though, and from the spatial corner of her eye and attentive corner of her ear, she observed Jewel lovingly inspecting Esmeralda's scale. When he turned it over, there was a bit of skin still stuck to it. "Poor Esmeralda!" he whispered to Maxwell. "This must've hurt terribly!" Star whined with discomfort right with him.

"That girl's weird," the cynical firefly responded with a calmness well suited to the deliberate abating of the group's usual neuroses, "but she really likes you. And... I figure that's all you need to make a fool of yourself."

**END OF PART THREE**


	84. Chapter 84

"You... _yaaaaaawwwwwnnn_... wanna stay my friend, right?"

_Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz_.

Paint was still groggy and not quite awake, but Arrowhead was fully asleep. A ringing, dull pain in her side and the tired moans of a few other passengers farther up the length of the bus told her there had been some kind of bump in the road, but the lack of any additional yelling reassured her that it was nothing serious.

She had fallen from on top of him during the bump, but that was no reason to be upset. She took the liberty of pulling herself up to the seat this time, careful with the positions of her knees so as not to jab the toad who was still enjoying his much-needed sleep, if already starting to shiver in doing so. That was a need she could fill, so she ever-so-gently lowered herself onto him to be his blanket again and he warmed up once more.

The pressure of her body alongside the morning light of colors running even warmer seemed to outweigh the tendency of a body at rest to stay at rest, however, and so soon enough, cavernous waking sighs began spilling out of him as well. He opened his eyes and stared right at her, which was all the permission she needed to rouse herself from this newfound artificial slumber and kiss him on the mouth as soon as he could close it. He ventured his arms out from their fuzzy protection to wrap them around her, and she rewarded this maneuver with extra intensity and duration of his welcome smooch.

"Good morning!" she whispered. "How do you feel on this fine morning?"

"Hm... is it fine?" Rather than deign to attempt a shallow answer herself, she sat up, pulling him up with her using both arms, and invited him to look out the window. His gasping at the vibrant sunrise climbing slowly and proudly over the gentle hills, dotted with tiny sleeping villages at a more than chance frequency, could actually be heard over the moving bus's dim roar. She slung her arm around his shoulder and tracked his eyes over each new environmental feature with her own: he seemed to love the cute cliffs and quaint hillside gravel trails.

"What time is it?" he groaned.

"Arrow, you're the one with the biological clock! Or was that all a parlor trick, with hidden compartments and smoke machines?"

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged; her arm kept pace. "I dunno." Whatever it was, it had been a longer time riding than expected, but their refreshed states of mind with so much sleep made the long journey more than worth it. At this point, Paint recalled vague snapshots from the night of the bus stopping at a few towns along the way, and Namosstok, the big kahuna of the bunch, would be the end of the exciting line.

"So what do you think of this exciting new leg of our journey?" she whispered. "Oops – sorry for the loaded question." Her face was pressed cozily against his, with the handy but incorrect explanation at the ready that this was simply necessary to avoid waking Maxwell, Jewel, or Star up.

"Um... I'm excited, too! Dr. Eggman's been locked up, and we're safely on our way, with all of our priorities in order."

She didn't respond – she wanted more. "Oh, but I want to see the city on its own terms just like you do, Paint," he elaborated. "I can't imagine what the real _ocean_ will be like!"

"Wanna go swimming?"

"...Maybe when we're mostly settled."

"But we're not even gonna _be_ there that long!" she mock-pouted. "It's like that hypothetical allegorical old dude I invented for the sake of this point once said – you gotta live life to the fullest as soon as you can!"

"...I'm sure lots of real historical figures have said words to that effect," he pondered. "And... I guess they're not wrong! But please... can we at least call my parents first? I know they're always worried about us and I have to reassure them that we're all safe and sound as soon as I can."

"Done deal! Mama Toad's gotta see her boy, I get that." Her heart warmed as she imagined the frumpy woman brightening up at a long-awaited ring from her son.

He nodded approvingly, and her face naturally shook with his. Simple logistics dealt with, they could once again enjoy the new landscapes: forestation had shrunken alongside the road past the threshold of "default" and there was now an increasing density of squat buildings. But no Green Island was this; these suburbs were far larger, bracketing a far more exciting conclusion than they had ever seen.

A series of shallow urbane potholes shook the bus again, and after a familiar wave of groans from the other passengers, the other three adventurers lost their ability to sleep any longer. "Hi, g- _yaaaaaaawwwwnnn_\- I'm sorry – hi, guys," Jewel said, licking his lips into daytime agility. "Ah, did you have trouble sleeping?"

"Hi, Jewel!" she said in a chirpy whisper with her tails beginning to wag, gently pulling him over to look out. "No, don't worry; we slept fine. I... can't remember any nightmares, so either the memory witch was so totally evil she erased her misdeeds and I forgot them, or it was a peaceful night! How was it on your end, my fellow fuzzball? Did you keep Max warm?"

The insect glared vacantly at her, and Jewel filled in, "Um, n-no. He was... well, not surprisingly fine without me. But I did have a dream! It wasn't anything very interesting, but we were swimming in a great big, bright and shiny body of water somewhere and it felt really good!"

"See, Arrow?" Paint elbowed him. "Even Jewel knows we sh-"

"I know, I know," he laughed quietly.

There was an uncomfortable pause, Star demarcating its awkward nature by staring with its curious round eyes at its friends.

"Well, _I_, for one," Maxwell announced, sitting upright and rubbing his sore wing, "just wanna get my feet on solid ground again if I can't at least fly. Man, Paint, your dad's gotta be a whackjob if he willingly messes around in airplanes all day when he's not floating around on his glorious butt propeller."

"Where do ya think I get it from?" she laughed, playfully flicking her incorrigible, wild grassy bangs. "But okay – no dizzying skyscraper tours, got it!"

"Yo... Star."

The robot whirled its head around, looking for its addressee, and cooed up and down in surprise when it confirmed with its own eyes that the person staring up and talking of his own volition to it was Maxwell. It beeped once, waving him in to ask whatever he wanted.

"How do _you_ feel about all this?"

It whistled a spiraling note of confusion.

"About... I dunno, everything. You're here on a bus with a bunch of impotent Mobian punks, no one's staring at you, and your master... no, the guy who _used_ to be your master before you showed him what's up isn't gonna be harassing you anymore. This is your own life. How's it feel?"

Once the robot was sure it had correctly taken in this introspective question from this unexpectedly calm and genuinely wondering source, a process that in actuality involved an uncomfortable, wide-eyed stare that almost turned Maxwell away, it leaned in, squeezed him, and let out a low noise almost like a purr.

Maxwell's smile in that moment was bright and clear. "Love you too, buddy." A young couple sitting a few rows in front of them stared back. "Yeah, that's right, city-slickers," he challenged with no excuses or tales of exceptionally elaborate costumes. "A robot's our friend."

"H-hey," Jewel's tiny voice shot in from the sidelines, "you guys should look at _this_! It's... so pretty!"

Scurrying to the window at the bus's side evinced a cityscape that thoroughly deserved such elevation. Both bordering the side of the increasingly busy highway and stretching further up the hills the city called its own, buildings were diverse in every way imaginable. They were brick, steel, wood, glass, and rocks seemingly torn at random from other planets and fashioned into livable structures without any sort of compacting. They were white, black, grey, brown, red, blue, yellow, teal, transparent, and in some cases multiple of the above and other unusual construction colors to boot as their sides were effaced with imaginative murals and extensive graffiti. They were rectangular prisms, perfect cubes, arches, pyramids, cylinders, and in at least a couple of cases, shaped even like _people_, Mobian and human together. Their eyes fluttered over the esoteric landscape as they might an antique indigenous quilt in whose cottony folds they were about to enjoy a bountiful sleep.

"If they work with the zoning laws," Arrowhead quietly captioned, "I guess they're pretty great! I hope the designs have to do with the places' occupations, though."

It wasn't long before the strange constructions started becoming exponentially taller. It seemed to be a pattern that highways got more bustling, chaotic, and consequently lined with merciful exits when they got downtown, the latter of which facts the driver smoothly exploited, crossing three lanes at once to pull off.

And when they were this close up to see it, Namosstok made Yakhtanmantannji look like a couple of tents in the woods.

"Mmm... maybe I'm not so excited about this," the toad whined, though it came out more as a sigh.

"We need to get you accustomed to crowds and noise!" Paint chided. "Wanna drop everything and take up a career as 'metal' musicians? We'll even get to see Cayne again, and Sunny Clearing will feel frail and provincial!" A beat of silence was all the reprimanding she needed, so she softly added, "Just kidding. As soon as this thing stops and we're on our feet again, it's phone time. And we'll always be by your side to protect you from stuff like this." She squeezed his hand.

As the bus began at long last to slow and pull into its depot, it became time for them to put their money where their rural mouths were, and so they felt especially comfortable waiting for the other patrons in front of them to clear out for home before they themselves got up to do so. Sometimes administrative rules provide unintentional unspoken benefits.

They trotted inside the gigantic glass structure, and how massively overflowing it was past its brim with travelers of all walks of life and all destinations only drove the toad's panicked eyes faster to the giant, reassuring blue sign labeled '_PHONES_'.

"Lead the way, my good sir!" she commanded. This time, he grabbed her hand, as well as that of Star, who drew substantially fewer glares from passersby when it was made public that it was the type of giant, formidable battle robot that could nonchalantly befriend a young, innocent, and good-hearted amphibian.

He slid roughly on his webbed feet into the nearest kiosk and punched with fury his home phone number into the keypad. Nothing happened. He gulped. He didn't notice Paint bending down to a convenient gewgaw on the ground and kissing him on the cheek until she calmly placed the small coin some overworked entrepreneur had let fall to the floor into the slot. He smiled thankfully at her and tried the number again, and it was picked up within its first tantalizing little ring.

"Hi, Mom!" he exhaled, all of the petrified muscles in his body seemingly relaxing at once at hearing her voice. "...Yes, I feel fine. Erm... no, I don't have a fever, but w-we're in Namosstok now and I feel a little light-headed. ...N-no, but, aha, now that you mention it, I _might_ pee myself if I stand here much longer. ...Okay, I will be right back."

He ran off a few steps into the crowd, hopping back and handing the dangling phone to Paint with a sheepish grin before disappearing again. She took it.

"Yyyyyyeeeeeesssss, this is Paint's Pineapple Pizza Parlor, eponymous owner Ms. the Seedrian-Fox speaking. As a friendly customer reminder, our only items on the menu are pineapple pizza and pineapple soda, and we only serve parties of at least 17, but no greater than 22. Yes shirt, yes shoes, no service. What can I do ya for?"

Arrowhead's mother laughed deeply and energetically. "Glad to see the hazards of travel haven't dampened your spirit. How is it all playing out over there?"

"Huh? Uh..." She twiddled the cord on one finger like a natural. "We're doing fine. There are... ah, lots and lots of people! Imagine those holiday festivals we have at home, but the entire village compressed into one little garden plot, and then multiply that by, like, a hundred thousand, and even though it's the most amazingly cool place ever, a lot of 'em don't look like they really want to be here."

"Haaaaahaha, yes, I know how those places are. ...Oh. Paint."

"Hm?"

"There was a fearsome ship screaming by here overhead a couple of nights ago. We'd never seen anything like it, and I hadn't the precious heart in me to identify the glaring Dr. Eggman logo on the side to the people here not savvy of the extent of his schemes. He didn't plague us, but I had the intuition the old screwball had different, more populated places in mind. Do you know anything about that?"

"Wh-what?" Paint gulped, curling the phone cord around her neck without thinking about it. "Uh... no! I- I mean, yes! _We _were never bothered by it, but I heard on... on a TV somewhere that he got arrested! Must've been doing super-bad stuff with that thing, which I'd hope people could predict from that... y'know, heinously bad graphic design job."

"Haha, yes, quite. Good to hear you're all safe, then. Oh..." Her voice dropped a few notes. "Could I talk to Maxwell?"

Paint was frozen, and her feelings of relieving absolution of endangering poor Arrowhead again weren't enough to melt it away. She silently handed Maxwell the receiver, and he spoke confidently into it. "Hey, she-frog, what's up?"

He stood in silence, a long explanation of something emanating from the phone. He didn't say a word, and only thin, mechanical tides of his chest showed that he was breathing at all.

"...H-h-huh? Yeah, I'm okay. I don't care. I don't care one bit."

His voice began to rise, and he cowered from his friends and the truth to continue the conversation – poorly, one might add, as they could see fully well that he was crying.

"I don't _want_ to talk to them. Not now, not when we ever get back to that stupid town of yours, not when they kick the bucket into the pharmacy for real, not ever! If those losers are that done with me, I'm done with _them_!" He slouched over into the corner, barely able to stand. "Y-yes. I'm sorry. You don't deserve that. You're cool. You're a good parent. I _do_ want to talk to you later if you will. And... thank you."

He slammed the receiver into its holster; if Jewel had wanted to speak to anyone or Star had wanted to brighten anyone's day back home with its own conversation, that would just have to wait. Even with all of the cacophonous noise in the station, a few fellow travelers heard the clang.

With that, the firefly accepted the implicit permission to break down in tears.

"Max, what's going on?!" Jewel whispered, kneeling right down by his side, as close as he could come without potentially uncomfortable physical contact.

"Nothing!" Maxwell seethed between sobs. "And don't call me that. That's _their_ name. I'll pick something new for _myself_ sometime, when I feel like it. I don't even care. No one should call me anything or talk to me at all."

Jewel stayed right there with him, finally lowering an understanding arm around the crook of his back when he could resist his consoling urges no more. Maxwell accepted.

"My mom and dad were messing around with their happy pills again, and my mom almost died. They were both really sick, supposedly, but she was knocked out for a long time. They did it. I knew they would. They went right back; they didn't change at all." The words came out rapid-fire and with no emotion, like an execution of a prisoner by a guard who never wanted to sign up for such a horrifying, distressing job in the first place.

"You know what, Max?" Paint asked. She could feel herself riling up with anger, too.

"What, Paint? What is it?" he yelled. "What do you have to add that's so important?!"

She looked a few degrees away; he wasn't the target of her boiling rage. "That I agree with you!" Her sentences were hardly felt as they spewed from her throat like fire. "If that's how they want to respect their son, a son who wanted to trust them to mend their ways for good, then that's fine; you don't need them at all!"

He gulped and vaguely nodded to the girl on his side, and then he buried his face in his arms and cried.

"B-but, Max," Jewel reminded him, "you don't have to worry about that."

Maxwell growled from deep in his belly for his best friend to continue.

"...You still have a backup family."

"...I love you, Jewel," the firefly croaked, turning slowly around and hugging his legs tightly. Jewel wasn't quite sure how to physically accommodate himself, but settled for placing his hands protectively on the insect's uninjured shoulder. Maxwell spoke again. "And I need you more than you need me."


	85. Chapter 85

**Author's note: Lately I've been binging the cartoon _Steven Universe_, with which I'm almost fully caught up at episode 69. It's cute, charming, and unforeseeably deep in world-building – highly recommended if you can get past the admittedly slow start and all the allegations of propaganda. Anyway! This is a _Sonic_ fanfic; please read and review!**

"I... I don't believe it," Arrowhead sighed, leaning against the wall of the booth to catch his breath from the news.

"Then get better at taking in new information, why don'tcha?"

Maxwell's biting words soured his tongue; he let his eyes droop closed, breathed heavily until he could calm down, and quietly added, "I'm... sorry."

The trading of guilt tokens felt secondary; Arrowhead barely blunk at the apology with no swing up or down in his facial expression. "I think it's just like Jewel said," he confirmed. "You have us... no, actually, it's more like you _and_ us have... a bond. But it still goes better when you can just listen to us – I'm... I'm dumbfounded that after all those theatrics they did, which I remember so clearly, too, they didn't mean any of it. Hmph."

Maxwell breathed deeply in and out again, opened his eyes, and licked his lips to taste the busy, vaguely smoggy air. "Yeah. But I guess I've gotta move forward; I don't care what that takes. We're here. This is a different place. We're independent animals. We're on the move. What are we gonna do?"

He rattled his eyes frantically around the group from member to member like a pinball keeping itself as busy as possible in its merry point-gathering. "Anyone? C'mon, surely you nerds have ideas for nerd things to do."

Jewel's eyes lit faintly up. "W-would going to an... an arcade, I believe they're called, be 'nerd' enough?"

Star mimed thumping motions with its hands, looking expectantly at the hyena. "Of course, you can play, too," Jewel giggled.

"Yeah. Yeah! Let's do it. Let's go get directions and fill ourselves to the core with dumb, bright video entertainment. C'mon!" With a deep sweep of his arm – he was too distracted even for a weak wince at the pain – Maxwell coaxed his friends along with him in the vague direction of a booth that looked official enough to provide such urban guidance.

_'Core'..._ "Uh..." Paint, while trotting along with them, tapped Maxwell lightly on the back. "I- I'll catch up with you guys in a little bit, okay? I felt sorta weird and... lightheaded back on the airship and I'm gonna go have a doc check me out, okay?"

"Hmm..." Arrowhead stared anxiously at her head, attempting even the crudest study of her uncomfortable, shifting gaze. "That's fine, but would you want us to come with you? I mean, if all we're going to be doing anyway is badgering our senses with video games..."

"Huh? No, no, it's fine!" she laughed, waving her hands protectively. "It's... girl stuff only, I'm sure you can imagine. It's probably nothing anyway; I'd just be boring you all. Ta, as they say, ta!"

She scampered off away from the party. "Yo, meet us back here at one o'clock, how about it?" Maxwell yelled over the clamor.

"You got it!" she shouted back, and she was out of range.

_Oh, man, oh, man_, she fretted. Whirling around in all directions, she picked a man from the tumult at random and slid in front of him to get his immediate attention.

"Er... hello, miss, can I help you?" he asked. An older arctic fox with a smooth light grey coat; a tall, broad-shouldered figure; a very lived-in brown business suit; and a voice deep and warm enough to rupture an undersea volcano, his presence immediately calmed her nerves.

"H-hi! Sorry, sir, uh, would you happen to have an idea where the nearest hospital is? A quick one! Erm, with a quick surgical wing. Where the questions move from patient to doctor, not the other way around!"

He stared at her and, after a short pause, began a hearty attempt at an answer when she impatiently jutted in, "See this thing?" She stuck her index finger against the monstrous lump beneath her stomach, where healthy-looking hair was already starting to fill back in. "I need it taken out."

"My, that looks horrible." The words were ghostly on his lips, and when he squatted down to see it in closer detail, she instinctively cowered away. He accepted, pulling an empty page from a small composition book in his pocket and scribbling an address. "You'll need to take a few buses to get there, or the subway is somewhat more rapid... Hm, why aren't your parents around to drive you?"

She looked away. "They don't even know I exist."

"Such is the case with far too many children these days. It's a shame. Well..." He stole a glance at his watch. "It's highly unorthodox, and if your answer is yes we'll need to act fast, but would you like a ride?"

The color having seeped out of her face, it rushed back in and she looked appreciatively back at her savior. "Yes! Please! Thank you!"

"Well, it's glad to see you're as eager to get a move on as I. Let's be off, then." He rerouted his course for the great big line of glass doors fronting the station, and she kept close as the strange, almost burned smell emanating from his suit. "Oh." The man looked back at her. "What's your name?"

"Paint the Seedrian-Fox, plus one nasty little growth that's got to go! Heehee."

"'Seedrian'... 'Fox'... that's beautiful. I'm Irving the _Arctic_ Fox, by the way; nice to meet you."

"Cool! I love your name," she tittered. He smiled, set his hands comfortably into his wide pockets, and walked rapidly – a pace with which the girl easily kept – to a station wagon, mostly stained wood with a satisfactory metal skeleton, parked at one of the spaces of easiest access given the high demand of parking in the giant lot. He withdrew an old-fashioned key from his pocket, not attached to any particular ring, and opened the driver's side door. He allowed her to climb across to the passenger seat first, then took his own. She slammed her door and he his, and he activated the ignition; the vehicle set into a comfortable purr and he backed out.

"All right, 'Paint,'" Irving chuckled, not bothering to take a second look at her as he began his course with surprising efficiency down a major, busy street. "What's _really_ inside you? My daughter, bless her heart, was a medicine student, and she sure kept me up enough long nights quizzing her for the next and cruelest new test, and never in my life have I seen a 'growth', as you say, anywhere near that squarish and artificial."

She outlined the device's ugly form through her flesh, the old rushes of fear flooding her once again that it might go off at any second and end the life of the badly behaved girl. "...My friends and I," she confessed, "were on an airship Dr. Eggman kidnapped all those people on. He took me up into his office and said he was gonna set all of us free if I complied with these _experiments_ of his to see how... _animals_ respond to how he treats his poor _robots_." She slammed one fist into her other open palm and stifled a growl at the Doctor. "Stupid me agreed, and he stuck a... a thing inside me. All he has to do is press a button, and poison floods out, and I die."

Irving's eyes flared up in about as much terror as one could expect from a face as weathered and flexible to various stimuli as his, and he finally did steal another look at her; this time, she showed her implant off in something resembling pride.

"I heard about that," he gulped. "We don't get a whole lot of 'free time' at the bank back at the station – and now that I'm reminded, I'll need to get back there as soon as possible; this is already a longer break than I ought to be taking – but that I did catch wind of. Well, then speed is of the essence..." He stared gravely back at her and lowered his voice even further. "You can never be sure you can trust anyone."

His eyes were cold. Too cold. Paint felt far too vulnerable for comfort; her seatbelt seemed to cling to her like a dungeon chain. She could have sworn the man was even _grinning_ now; just in case, she attempted the door lock. It wouldn't move. She was trapped.

"What's the matter?" he asked stonily.

_Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no._

The exciting city was an overwhelming side note of her livestock car to who knew where. This was it – she had been tricked again. He even _looked_ like Nisaya and Nettle, his sharp teeth bracing a coat perhaps originating in their same noxious purple and only faded with age. She hyperventilated, knocked her ankles together, and began to cry for her stupidity at finally giving her best friends a _real_ reason to worry for her. If only she had swallowed her pride and taken them with her to have the accursed device removed, if only.

"...Are you okay? You look horrible. Is... is it setting in?"

Her panic widened from a mucky creek to an autumn ravine, swallowing her pitifully impotent body up in its waves. The sensation was all there, the physical pain afflicting every cell of her corporeal interior and the anxiety of rapidly approaching death filling in the gaps up in her brain.

"Paint." He placed a hand on her back, the force barely compressing the frail grassy canvas. "We're here."

As said, the car was stopped. He reached over her shivering body and unlocked her door; brisk and freeing outdoor air washed in. "I believe I'll ask again. Are you alright?"

He really was out to help her.

Sensitive to every impulse, the man removed his hand and waited for her answer. The stately Namosstok hospital stood straight and tall, sacrificing innovation for the instinctive beaming of relief to its patrons that it would fix them right once more. Edging her response to the man's kind questions along, the wind tousled her ears.

She unbuckled herself, stood upright in the vehicle – as much so as was possible after unflatteringly banging her head on the ceiling – and hugged his sleeved arm. "Yes!" she cheered. "I'm doing as great as, y'know, a lady could with a medieval time-out machine in her tummy. Which is pretty great! Thank you for the ride, Mr. Irving, and I'm honored to call you my friend. If your boss needs an alibi for you being late on account of my dumb face, I can throw up on you and then wipe it off so it looks like some weirdo in the street did it and you had to clean it up the best you could!"

"No, thanks, I don't think that'll be necessary. They've installed lots of convenient planters, though" – he winked in a vague vector toward a constellation of them – "just in case you feel the need. Besides, you've left my alibi already." He plucked a stand-out-ish green hair from his sleeve and flicked it into the breeze.

"Heehee, so I have. Ah, see ya later, Irv! They're lucky to have employees like you!" Her obligation withstanding to be as quick and orderly as possible about the invasive procedure incoming, she ran in full stride toward the hospital building; her tails flailed in the cool air as if pointing to each possible exciting destination any ordinary visitor would want to see. Taking one last – for the time being – look at the outdoors, she gasped again at the wonder of the wide-open cityscape. It was no Tails, but for a locale situated on the same continent on which she had lived and breathed her entire life, it sure was something.

With her marvels, though, came a glimpse of Irving finishing off a perfunctory call to someone on his cellphone. The communication over, he slid the phone back into his pants pocket and began an idle walk around the hospital garden.


	86. Chapter 86

It was an awkward, uneven mixture: the dark, warm, clutches of chemically induced sleep and the vague, wispy anxiety the girl's still not fully active frontal lobe couldn't yet quite place. Her eyes fluttered open in a flash just to be safe, and there she was as she had entered: in the drab, white operating room. There was an inoffensive photograph of a catamaran gliding across a lake on one wall, and opposite it, a curtained window.

Wading further into the waters of testing luck, she attempted to move her limbs. She grinned at the victory; they responded mostly as normal, with all the difference _from_ the normal fully explainable by the lingering anesthesia. She raised one leg high above her body, wincing at the dull pain of stretching a branch stiffened surprisingly quickly from inactivity, and wiggled her stubby toes so that the oval shape of her foot flagellated at one end.

It was time for the next test of a Paint awake, so she set herself into deep motions, gathering momentum like a swing, and eventually rolled herself off the bed altogether. It hurt, and that fact felt great.

The ache gripping her central region from the operation, however, did not feel great, and she brought her knees up to her chest, hugged them, and wept at the sudden pain. Still, there were things to do and times for them to be done in – and by now she was alert enough to remember them – and this became all the impulse she needed to stand up on two legs and get going.

A young woman came in whom she recognized as the surgeon she had been coolly and summarily assigned a few hours ago when complaining with few further details about the hurt she felt in her stomach. She was a raccoon, and the especially dark coloring of her fur and raccoon eyes' tendency always to look mischievous and two-timing in circumstances of any appropriate affect did nothing to damper the hurriedly concerned look on her face.

"Paint!" she shouted, rushing to her side and tenderly inspecting her reopened and reclosed wound. "What are you doing out of bed so early?! I guess I'm glad to know you're feeling better... b-but you need your rest!"

"Huh? Naaaahhh," Paint replied, smiling to the point of squinting and tilting her chin proudly up to complete the illusion. "Actually, I'd say I feel better than ever! I guess that... er, weird growth of mine knocked out a few nerves inside me, 'cause right now nothing would give me greater, uh, 'rest' than a nice, balmy vacation to... uh... outside this building!"

The surgeon folded her arms and shot her a good-natured, knowing look that nonetheless did not cross over into dim, gullible acceptance territory. "Uh-huh. Listen, Paint," she said, stooping down to converse as directly and quietly as possible and glancing behind her, possibly to scope out any possible onlooking superiors. "I closed the wound up pretty well; you're not at risk for any internal damage. But we're required here to ensure that all our patients really _are_ in releasable condition before we, you know, release them. Besides..." She grinned at the younger girl, her own face looking suddenly closer to Paint's in age. "The longer you stay here, the longer you stay out of school today, riiiiiight?"

"That's true," the fox laughed, looking away. "But it's almost one o'clock... and there's a cute guy I like I promised I'd hang out with then."

The raccoon stood all the way up again, satisfied and excited for her young patient. "Ooh! Yeah, haha, I know that feeling well, and you can't miss that. What species is your sweetheart?"

"Toad!" Paint smiled.

"Into amphibian dudes, eh? Yeah, I can see you for the type. If you can hold onto 'em without them slipping away, they're great, haha! Ahhh... well, Paint, it wouldn't be right of me to keep one of my patients from loooooove, so I'll just fill all your signs out as normal if you think you're feeling fine. By the way..." She narrowed her eyes more closely, looking her up and down. "Those are absolutely adorable green highlights. Where'd you get 'em?"

Having sauntered her way to the door, Paint looked back at the friendly woman and winked. "Lightyears away. They're practically my trademark – it feels like I was born with 'em!"

On her way finally out of the building in a few tense minutes, she sped her steps up in the rush not to be somehow ushered back to her room. Fortunately, the orderlies, medical staff, and patients and their families were busied just fine with one another, and the journey was over almost before it began. She quite admired the presence of a couple of abstract metal sculptures in the lobby, a tasteful transition between the proper hospital interior and the city outside.

When she stepped out, the sun had fallen just far enough on its trickling course westward that her eyes clammed up at it. Still, it was visible within seconds that she was not alone here: Irving had taken to a book of crosswords, sudokus, or some similar puzzle type made of lattices requiring quick, abrupt notches of the pen. She gleefully ran right to him.

"Oh, hi!" he said. "You're done already?"

"Looks like I'm just too bottled up with energy to stay conked out for that long, heehee! What are you doing here, though? Is your bank opening up a new location at the hospital, so people can take out exorbitant sums of money while they're still a little loony from the sedatives?"

"My, no," he chuckled softly, "the weariness of travel does that just fine. I called out of work, and my boss was perfectly understanding. Are you ready to go back to meet your friends again?"

"Sure! Thank you _so_ much, Irving!" She bounced up and down, the excitement eventually carrying her in the direction of his car; he followed her and let them both in.

Revving its engine back up and backing out of his space, just like before, he spoke to her again. "Very well, Paint, now I have a question for you."

"What's up?"

"Where are you _really_ from?"

She fumbled with a cluster of unparseable syllables, trying to assemble a believable excuse, until he waved her efforts off with one hand. "Don't bother. I know you're not from here, or even the Namosstok metropolitan area – you've been much too infatuated with the scenery and... I'd almost venture even the presence of industrial technology at all. You've been so mysterious and hush-hush; I know that's not the kind of person you are, and yet I can't see why you'd be afraid."

She brought her legs up and sat on them, rocking back and forth against the restraint of the seatbelt until, slowing the car to a stop for a red light, he lightly grabbed her ankles and moved them back to their normal position. "Come on, I'm only curious. Maybe I could help you if I only knew a little more."

"No, you're right, I'm sorry," she sulked, scooting her shoulders back up to a good posture and looking desperately at the confused man. "I'm from – my best friends and I all are – a town wayyyy out in the middle of the woods a few hundred miles west of here, called Sunny Clearing."

"Good! That wasn't so hard," he reassured her, picking the car back up into motion at the very flick of the green. "Believe me, I understand young people running away and starting new lives better than you might think. Whatever brought you here, though, before our old mustached friend put your plans on hiatus? Some of my friends would get a real kick out of young women like you being architecture buffs or into the local improv scene, but something tells me your journey's been more personal."

"Well... that's because it is," she answered. "My parents don't know I exist... literally! My mom's not really around to give me a warm welcome anyway, but my dad kinda might, and that was what gave me and my buds the idea to set course for the other side of the world! I'm so glad you're not gonna turn us into the authorities or anything, because my pops sounds like one heck of a guy!"

"Like something right out of a storybook, your life is," Irving observed. "What's his name?"

"Miles Prower," she recited, "but everyone calls him Tails."

His jaw parachuted open as he studied her canine features and the gears of connection turned in his head. "Ohhhhhhh, my."

"You've heard of him?!"

"Everyone has," he gulped. "'_Seedrian_-Fox', you said – how didn't I get that? Why, you look just like your mother, too, in the right light. I suppose that's good on you in being as discreet as you have about your odd family; you could be a right instant celebrity if word got out."

"Oof." She clung to the seat cushion's sides as if the world was now watching her. "Yeah, thank you for the warning. I think I prefer just being what I am."

"And what's that?"

"One of a few close pals from Sunny Clearing, Kattekara District, Techokko Province, who love meeting new people, seeing new things, and working out their walking muscles!"

When he pulled back up to the bus station, she made sure to unbuckle and jump out first; she sprinted to Irving's side and kissed his hand. Admiringly rubbing the rough hair and soft ears of the affectionate girl, he followed her back inside the building. There, just as expected, waited Arrowhead, Jewel, Maxwell, and Star.

"What took ya so long?" Maxwell pried, stretching his legs and arms one by one. "My walking muscles are totally sore from all this standing you made us do."

"I socialized!" she cheeped. Irving was standing a few meters behind as an observer, but she ran again behind him and pushed him by his thighs the rest of the way so he and her older – and much younger – friends could get a closer look at one another. "This is Irving the Arctic Fox," she introduced, "and he took me to the doctor's! Turns out it really was nothing, but he didn't mind! Irving? Meet Arrowhead, Jewel, Maxwell, and Star!"

"Whatever," the firefly grumbled. "Hey, Irv, thanks for leaving your hair completely un-torn-out dealing with this little screwball of ours. Oh, and Paint" – he sardonically pointed out a clock showing her absence to have gone a bit past schedule – "you better apologize to my stomach for rumbling for eighteen whole minutes longer than it had to."

She rushed right to him, kissed the belly of the eye-rolling firefly, and patted it gently with one hand. "I'm sorry, Max's tummy! But your singing voice is absolutely divine, and you ought to be pursuing a recording contract, stat!"

"Listen, kids," Irving said, his warm voice instantly commanding all the group's attention. "I'm off work and if you can, erm, 'catch my drift', I'd rather not be seen by certain higher-ups here. Would you all like some lunch?"

Arrowhead gasped and slunk quickly to the forefront of the group. "Thank you, sir! I'll do it even if it means seeing new places and meeting new people!"


	87. Chapter 87

**Author's note: I think this might be one of the most... important chapters I've ever written. Not "easy" in some respects, maybe, but I think I feel newly connected to a few particular characters now, and I hope you all enjoy this.**

The restaurant's interior was of the highly – perhaps, from a functional standpoint, needlessly – ornamental sort whose sheer diversity of trappings makes one feel instantly at home with all the inanimate misfits. Strange, ghastly dolls; gaudy china; ivy-print wallpaper; and a few wilted potted plants that seemed to be crying out for water even harder than the more doughty diners in the place filled every last nook, as if it didn't need more aesthetic confirmation that it was the place to be.

Arrowhead gingerly picked up a wooden toy that looked like a cat, twisting it around and playing with it from his place in the party's booth near the window. "Hey, Paint," he casually asked, "are you sure this stuff isn't... er, too spicy for you after you weren't feeling well? I mean, I- I don't really know the details, but..."

"Oh, n-no, it's fine!" she chortled with a full mouth of part of a taco. His eyes pled to know for real, though, that nothing truly terrible had happened to her, and in that moment, the girl felt too much guilt to bear.

"Okay," she began to admit, scarcely noticing a few beans and sprigs of lettuce dribbling onto her plate, "it was a little more than lightheadedness that had me occupied way up there. Dr. Eggman promised he would set us free if only he could use someone like me for a bit of 'research', and the poor man, or so I thought, was so genuine and..."

Coming slowly at first, then tumbling out faster than she could keep track of her mouth, she explained to her friends the full extent of her little adventure. Their wide-eyed expressions held just enough fear alongside their wry curiosity that she just couldn't let them down until they knew everything, and so the cycle continued.

"And then... and that's it," she finished off in a small voice. "Anyone wanna feel my scar?" she asked, giggling through a hasty sip of soda.

Sitting beside Arrowhead near the aisle, Maxwell leaned back and relaxedly closed his eyes. "Man, that's reckless, even for you." She frowned. "But if you can survive two near-deadly surgeries and not even whine about it to your closest companions, a little extra hot sauce ain't gonna kill ya."

"You might've even slowed Dr. Eggman down before he could endanger the lives of any _other_ towns!" Jewel whispered excitedly.

"Eh... maybe. What'd you guys do, though," she prodded while snaking an arm around her weathered new friend, "while Irv and I were palling it up?"

Arrowhead immediately looked sick, elbowing his plate away from memories alone. "Video games are overwhelming."

"When your reflexes are that bad, I guess even something as laughably easy as _Spiky Blue _can do that," Maxwell guffawed.

"It wasn't _Spiky Blue_; it was the game about his creepy rival, _Spiky Black_. And I could barely concentrate on holding the light gun straight with you messing with my earholes!"

"I only did that 'cause of the bad language... and to clear your mind of distractions. Figured you needed it after messing up on walking, like, three miles a year in that other game, _Spiky Blue Gets Fangs_."

The friendly argument was then interrupted by a light clanging noise; the party's waitress had banged into the pleasant, quiet Star on her way down the aisle. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir," came her high, chirpy voice; Star sent her back a friendly beep. "Ah..." she asked the others in a state of confused helplessness, "would this one like any motor oil, perhaps?"

Irving took it upon himself to field this one. "Ahm, 'Star', are you doing alright here?" It beeped contently at him, too.

"Then I think we're fine," the fox explained, "but I'll have some more water if you don't mind."

"Certainly!" She trotted off.

"I'm sorry about that, boys. Please, go on."

Arrowhead took a deep, uncomfortable sip from his glass. "No," he quietly answered, "you can talk."

The man, mercifully, had a question ready for the young ones. "The afternoon's still young. Have you kids got anything else you'd like to do while you're in Namosstok?"

The toad pressed his fingers tight against his forehead, even pinching the flesh as if to shout to the room that he was thinking very hard. "Don't tire yourself out, lad," Irving discouraged. "I daresay one exhausted youngster's enough to deal with f-"

"Oh!"

Arrowhead slammed his hands down on the desk; a resounding clatter rippled across the table. Jewel's plate very nearly tumbled off until he caught it and took a silent, humbled few bites of rice. The toad was spooked at what he had done and quickly tapped everything down again so that it would not vibrate, but his enthusiasm for his remembrance remained.

"Sir, we received a... a key from a good friend of ours back at our home. And it goes to a bank vault... somewhere here. ...And we would really like to find out what's inside it. ...And... that's all I've got." His face sank at the fox's failure to display any immediate understanding.

Irving ended his prolonged silence with a laugh. "I'm just messing with you. Yes, of course we can go! Here, let me see it; perhaps I'll know where the bank is when I see the logo – unless it's to mine, of course! My, haha, wouldn't that be convenient."

"Star?" Paint asked. "Ready to open up?"

It was glad, of course, to be of help, so Arrowhead gingerly pulled on the door to its front component, thereafter yanking when it didn't budge to easy prodding. The door sprang open, and the toad found his quarry nestled quite perkily between a couple of the group's mushrooms. He smiled, remembering his father, but the key was exciting in a more urgent way, and so he snapped the door closed again and presented it to Irving.

"Mmmm! Yes, I drive by here on my way to work. It's not too far; let's be off as soon as you're all done eating."

"Yesh!" Jewel exclaimed through a mouthful, then remembered the impoliteness of his speaking and swallowed it. "We'll finally get to see what Morris thought we should have!"

With that, Irving's face went to stone. A little bit of life was sucked from the group.

"Did you say 'Morris'?" the man confirmed, looking just a bit older than he had.

"Yes?" the hyena said, already close to weeping at his own apparent, inscrutable misdeed.

"Oh, don't fret, Jewel; I oughtn't to compel you to do that. I'm sure there are many thousands of Morrises on Mobius; it's a perfectly normal name for your young friend. Besides – oh, and thank you" – he took a sip of water from his glass, just then brought back by the silent waitress – "the only Morris I ever knew was an iguana, much older than you kids."

And there was silence.

"What are you all looking at me like that for?"

Paint volunteered. "B-b-because that's just like _our_ Morris. He's smart, misunderstood, surly..." – she sighed sadly – "...and a better friend and person than most people really know. And we love him so much – i-in fact, he's the whole reason we ever settled on this particular port city to visit – and... I don't know, it just makes me a little sad that you don't."

"Don't like him?" Irving set his glass down. "Paint, I simply feel sorry for the poor boy. So sorry.

"Smart and misunderstood, always. A wonderful friend and person – don't I ever know it. But surly he wasn't, not when I first met him. In fact, I was quite taken with the little reptile when Isabelle first brought him home. He was sly, observant, always with a great joke or an astute topical observation poised at the ready. His snark was at times getting the best of him, but I never saw him as emotionally unstable in the least, and I'm saddened at how you describe him after all these years since..."

"Since what?" Arrowhead asked, "and who's Isabelle?"

"Uh, Arrow," Paint whispered, "I think he means-"

"She was my daughter."

The toad, ambushed with guilt and sympathy, stared hopelessly at Irving, waved aside in his reaction only by the man turning his own gaze away and coughing quietly into his hand.

"I'll forever be grateful to that fellow," Irving continued when he was ready. "Oh, sure, he was always bringing Isabelle home at two o'clock in the morning, leaving her giddy and practically unable to walk for the next day or so, hehe, but he tried to give her something no one else could... besides that. He tried to make her truly _happy_.

"Whenever he went anywhere with her, he'd roll the windows in the car all the way down because she liked to feel the breeze through her fur, even though being cold-blooded himself, that was understandably uncomfortable for him some days. Even when he couldn't be around, he would call her up when she was feeling dark, making sure she was taking her medication on schedule and luring her into some kind of whimsical philosophical discussion to cheer her up himself. When I listened over the communal house line, I didn't dare actually breathe, lest they hear me and his plans be foiled, but I almost cried from thankfulness to him every single time.

"And then, he was the one who found her, not me – he'd playfully snuck into her room."

He slumped his elbows onto the table and brought his hands up to cover his eyes. "I had..." he tried to continue, his voice beneath the floorboards and crackling. "I had been giving her a hard time for not trying to move out of her old man's house after finishing school. I just wanted her to be as independent as I knew she could – I thought it would help her spirits better than me being around all the time ever could – but that must've been the last straw. Something was. And where's she living now? In the air! All over the planet!"

The raising of his voice, which he hadn't even been aware of until he managed to see all the horrified stares through the tears welling up in his eyes, went away. "I'm so sorry, Izzy," he whispered. "I loved you more than you could imagine and I didn't tell you that nearly enough."

"I had no idea," Arrowhead told the grieving man after a safe pause. "That's terrible... but I'm sure you did. I don't think Isabelle could've asked for a better father than you, although maybe her depressive condition kept her from completely seeing that."

Maxwell glared bloody murder at the toad. _Shut up – you didn't need to say anything_, he mouthed with as much tooth-baring as he could. Nervously fidgeting in his seat the whole time, though, Arrowhead decided that wasn't enough.

"A-and you said it, and it makes sense: you were only trying to do the most logical thing to make her happy... because you're a very good person."

Irving began to laugh again.

He wiped away the bulk of his tears, sighed heavily, and stared longingly out the window. "I guess you're right, Arrow. Life just stinks for good people anyway sometimes. Oh-" – he looked back at Arrowhead and nudged his own growing smile along – "and thank you. I needed that."

"Nice job, Arrow!" Paint whispered encouragingly into the toad's ear, offering him a fist-bump that turned into a bare, gentle prod on the side – even Maxwell was forced to nod in approval.

"Anyway..." Irving rose from his seat, Star graciously getting out of the way to make room. "Is everyone done? Whatever old Morris wanted you kids to have, let's have at it."

Three animals nodded. Jewel, the fourth, finished scarfing down a taco and politely dabbed his mouth with a napkin when he was he was being watched. "Ye-_buuuuurp!_"

"I'll take that as a fully articulated 'yes', haha, so let's go up and pay," Irving announced. "And then we'll have ourselves a relaxing afternoon drive to the bank!"

Arrowhead, tumbling clumsily out of his seat and onto the floor, had an idea stirring in the warm heart of his cold-blooded chest. "W-with the windows down!"


	88. Chapter 88

**Author's note: I have been reminded over the course of this long and unpleasant absence how much I hate three things in particular: computer malfunctions, writer's block, and falling behind in school. As for repairs... well, I can say that my computer is pretty much fixed! The others remain under construction. :/**

"I'm liking this breeze," Paint practically shouted above the rushing wind outside, losing the ability to resist sticking her entire head out of the window and basking in it. "How about you guys?" she yelled back.

"Y-yeah, 'breeze,'" Maxwell moaned through his shivers. "It's charming." Already hugging Arrowhead, he then grabbed Jewel to his side for warmth, kneading his fingers to press the hyena's fur into his rough skin.

"Great!" she shouted back absentmindedly. "Was beginning to think I was the only one... How's it going up there, Star? You still protecting us?"

The robot whistled back down. Encouraged, Paint stood up on the seat and elongated her arm in an attempt to give it a blind high-five, which its ties to the vehicle's roof were apparently generous enough to allow. She giggled at the cold touch of its metal hand, which coiled excitedly around her own before letting her go.

"Now, are you guys- oh..." Seeing her friends' conditions, Arrowhead experiencing the worst of it, she snuggled up with him and smiled to him. "Oh, I'm sorry! I guess there are negative, painful 'charms' too..."

"I guess sometimes remembering people can hurt in more ways than we expect," he said.

When they had reached the building, Irving led the entry. It was warm inside, strangely homey for an establishment so tied by nature to cold impersonality, and the teller's smile to see him felt somehow above that which was expected from such employees.

"Hi," he said, leaning on the rim of the counter somewhat precariously as though he was trying with all his might not to violate the invisible imperial social order by allowing himself any elbow seating. "These kids have a key one of their old friends gave them to a vault here. Do you think we could go and see it?" He shifted his position to bring Arrowhead into full view.

The teller leaned herself over the counter, smiling apologetically as she almost bumped right into the older man's chest. She was a shrew, of the sort that is naturally friendly.

"A key? Of course, sir." She held her hand out expectantly in Arrowhead's direction. "Did this friend register with us recently? We can make you one as well for no charge if it was within the last six weeks!"

"Uh... not exactly." Producing the artifact, he gently rubbed the tiny shreds of sticky residue, once holding a label long gone and unable to guide any longer, before coming to his senses and handing it to the woman.

His mild interest in its industrial, old-fashioned design, however, was dwarfed in milliseconds by hers. "Whoa... this looks like it was from before this place got renovated! _I _was a little girl back then, and you... you can't even have been born!"

"Well, I did say 'not exactly'..."

"You little trickster." She scratched his scalp affectionately and trotted right out of her cubicle, eyes already beamed not at her customers, but at the expanse ahead, a link to a history she had never fully known. "I have no idea who this 'friend' is, but this has got to be important!"

It seemed increasingly as the party spelunked through the bank, stalactites, gold-plated tombs, and great reptilian fossils made fewer and fewer efforts to hide themselves and their enjoyment of being old together. At the very least, thicker blankets of dust coated the floor and fewer footprints disrupted their serenity, so unused were these wings of the building. But lost civilizations are only named such through their rediscovery, and no eerie flickering lights or signs marked up in fonts long exiled from typographical fashion would turn them back now.

"Aaaaaaand... vault number two-hundred and fifty-nine! Here we are!" she chirped, only just then dotting her beady eyes around to take inventory and see how her new friends were doing or if any of them had been swallowed up in the darkness.

"_Man_, do I ever wish I could fly," Maxwell moaned, shoveling a layer of dust off of his foot. "Anyone looking for some muscle training is more than welcome to carry me on the way back!"

The woman clacked the key into its insertion. Dirt, grime, arachnids' nests and corpses all protested the dismantling of their ancient home, but eventually she did manage to shrew them away and accompany the hesitating clicks with a few well-timed satisfying clacks. With a sweet maraschino _creeeeakk_ on top, she opened the door and clicked on the light.

"More like _Moral-Less_ the Iguana!" Maxwell groaned. "There's nothing here!"

The shrew giggled. "Look harder, sweetie." The small and decrepit room had two high shelves on each wall, and jumping up, as unprofessional as it might look, did the trick in a second to secure their bounty.

"My mocking name still stands," said the firefly when he saw what it was.

This time, the others were as confused as him. "A locket just like the one Morris gave you?" Arrowhead murmured at it. "Are there any differences? How redundant," he scoffed, careful though he was with its ordinary wooden beads.

"Didn't any wise old blind man ever tell you that saying, Arrow?" Paint asked, poking him in the ribs. "The only thing better than a wooden necklace for attaining wealth, happiness, and a lasting impact on the world... is TWO wooden necklaces!"

"Well... that settles it," he sulked. "Aren't you going to put it on?"

She could see the disappointment in his eyes, and she had other plans than for him to feel that way. "Of course not!" she yipped. "I think you look a lot more handsome with it." She gently angled its shape enough that it would fit around his head, and let it fall gracefully a few inches to his neck. She put hers on as well, but could not get very far before the swinging motion of Arrowhead's new acquisition loosed a curious second artifact from its insides.

"Whoa!" His eyes lit up and he dropped to the floor – it was a slip of paper. The note's jaundiced complexion and simple age urged a careful handling of it in unfolding, but he was only as careful in getting at whatever lay inside as was necessary. Indeed, a note was written, but at making out its fine print – even with everyone else crowded around, only he was near enough to read it – he turned ghost-white and handed it straight to Paint.

_Morris,_

_I can't believe I forgot your birthday! I'm so sorry, and I hope it scratches the surface of being enough of an apology that... surely you know how exams are. But we're still going out tomorrow, right? I swear, I'll adjust my plans if need be! Tomorrow will be all about you._

_I also should tell you that I'm eternally grateful for all you've stuck with me. If you can believe this old writing hand that stubbornly insists on spending half our dates scribbling note cards about her latest lessons on the structure of the Mobian kidney, its owner feels terrible for being so bad at showing you all the affection you deserve. As low to the ground as I seem to cower during the fact, I'm humbled beyond normal-person words to have such a valiant knight sticking up for me against my father when I've let him down for the billionth time. Your advice to smile more so that the world can flinch at my bared teeth was good advice; I just only wish I didn't feel as though I were on the same side of those sharp monsters..._

_Anyway, my index-card habits have failed me once more, and here I am nearing the end of this paper. About the necklaces... er, the saleswoman said the two of them (I have the other) were the perfect accompaniment to a pair of adventurers, fearless of the frightening road ahead. You've got that covered, of course; I just needed the encouragement. Ack, there I go being selfish again!_

_With you now and forever,_

_Izzy_

_P.S. Remind my stupid face to leave the car windows up for you tomorrow!_


	89. Chapter 89

Everything was quieter after that. Whether leaning in the direction of anxiety or of forgetful joy, something energetic had been left at the bank, never to be retrieved again.

With no conversation to divert their attention otherwise, and with spending the trip looking out the window seeming a selfish pastime, the group turned it to one another.

_Was Jewel always this authoritative-looking?_ Paint wondered, her normally quivering and hyperactive lip harnessed firmly into place. _Was Max this somber? Was Arrow this... dry-skinned? _She looked down at herself, curling each toe individually around the floor mat to lift it up and press it back down again, one time after another.

_Was I this... grey?_

Irving's headrest making absolute sure to hide every last splinter of soul from his face, Paint could not analyze him. Perhaps that was for the better.

The car jolted on a pothole of a harmless size. The old fox didn't appear to notice. The two necklaces in the chamber, however, were sure to.

Grabbing it to quell its bouncings-around, the movements made capricious and noisy by contrast with just about everything else in the vicinity, Paint studied the wooden chain that consensus had declared to be her own.

_That poor, poor man!_ She was on the verge of crying; she grabbed it as a helpless child does the safety bar on a rollercoaster, even after that second of no return as the deadly plummet begins. _He loved his daughter so much and she never even knew it! He was only overbearing because he was just so enormously intent on getting her the best life possible, and now as harmless and sweet as he is, it'll always be too late!_

"Irving!" she yelped out, resisting every last drop of hormonal urge to plug herself back up again, say it was nothing, anything. She had to do this.

"...Yes, Paint?" He spoke lowly, slowly.

"Do you want to keep the necklaces? We're just dumb kids who didn't know you until this morning; she's your daughter! We won't be offended, I promise! Take 'em!"

Even Arrowhead was glaring at her. She refused his offer to eye-combat; she stared Irving down, refusing to back off or leave the issue ambiguous if there was any comforting to be done.

"'O-offend'?" It was almost as though the act of exercising his vocal cords in the slightest were an act of throat-clearing, a speech he was not yet ready to speak, and clearing his throat was exactly what he did thereafter. And then he laughed.

"No, Paint, the past is the one place I _don't_ need to look. I want you guys to keep them."

"Thank you," Arrowhead gasped. "They're beautiful!"

"Anyway!" Irving laughed again. "Where should I be dropping you kids off? Every departure needs a good setting."

Jewel took a sweeping look at the buildings that still streamed by as though it were his last. "Well, I guess the airport would make the most sense... but it'd be a shame to abandon this place so soon, I think."

"And we'll be the only ones who get to see it," Arrowhead sighed.

Irving coughed again. "Nonsense! Haven't you ever heard of postcards?"

The toad brightened up a few hues. "I suppose, although I'd rather be able to show my parents something more original. They've seen _other_ people's pictures of, like, every city ever."

"Then fix that! Disposable cameras, for the amount of pictures they'll give you, are a whole lot better of a deal."

"If we had our friend here to draw whatever we saw," Jewel recollected with a shiver of nostalgia, "we'd be able to capture a lot more memories, and all for free..."

"Solakku!" Slapping her shin loudly enough to make the poor hyena flinch, even sitting across the car from her, Paint jolted forward in place to strain her seatbelt. "The loudspeaker! Back on the airship! Eggman said 'Little Apple' was one of the places we visited! We need to call her!"

"Well, it sounds like you've got quite the itinerary, guys. Ready to hop off?" Irving placed his hand behind the seat opposite him, making Jewel flinch once more, and backed into a parking space. The gift shop invited the typical unoccupied passerby with displays of everything weird, colorful, simply fundamentally Namosstok that could be packaged and carried away; garish yet heavenly and alluring, the building itself hypnotized the adventurers out through the car doors to see it up close.

"Uh... guys?"

They turned back.

"Can't leave without this!" he reminded. Star, still tied to the roof, whistled out in mock forlornness.

"Of course not!" Paint cried out. "We would never forget something like this! Come on, Star, let's get you down."

"I hate doing this..." Jewel moaned as he and his loyal muscles trudged over.

"So," the arctic fox recapitulated with a firm clap of his hands once the robot was safe and sound at ground level. "Money. Do you kids have all of it you need?"

Maxwell patted Paint affectionately on the back. "Thanks to Ms. Miner here," he proudly exclaimed, "possibly not, 'cause she's so liberal with the stuff, but we've got some!"

"But we'll have enough for plane tickets," she teased back, "if your face doesn't scare off the passengers and get us kicked off, and for a camera too, if it doesn't break the darn thing!"

"Looks like you'll all be fine, then, heheh. Anyway, the next plane over the ocean to Freedom leaves in two hours, so don't be TOO lackadaisical in this little souk before you clock over, you hear?"

"Got my biological clock right here!" Arrowhead answered, puffing his chest out with pride.

With no remaining bumps remaining in the trail, Jewel's face bunched up sadly. Starting out with an expected polite slowness, but barreling into a trot, the boy sank into Irving's chest, sniveling into the wispy coat. "I'm going to miss you so much, sir!" The fur barrier did nothing to muffle the despondent clarity of his words.

"Don't worry, kiddo, I'm going to miss you lot even more." After finishing the hug off, Irving gently clipped himself away from Jewel and stood all the way up. "You reminded me what it was like to have youngsters in my life – and you gave me closure about my own little girl. It's a fix I've been needing for a looooong time."

Paint kissed his cheek. "Just call us, Irving, whenever you need someone to mooch food offa you!"

"Count on it." He coughed again, smiling through the harsh noise. "I hope you kids'll excuse me now – I'm going to go home and catch up on some living."

He sat back down in the station wagon, closed the doors like sunset curtains, turned the ignition, and he was gone.

The gift shop was nice... probably. Paint figured so. But even though its presence without the old fox was all she had ever known of the place, it felt too empty for her.

The gang trudged up to the counter. "Could we please have a disposable camera, ma'am?" Jewel murmured at the desk.

"Of course, mister," the kindly old woman behind it said. "You all – even your robot – look like you've got a lot of memories to hold onto."


End file.
